


ink may stain my skin, and my jeans may all be ripped

by Setkia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aviation Student!Lance, Broke!Lance, But what else is new?, Cuban!Lance, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith Gets Angsty Sometimes, Keith Won't Even Know What Hit Him, Lotor and Zarkon are Assholes, M/M, Pining, Seduction Lance McClain Style, lots of innuendos, mechanic!lance, rich!keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-02-14 18:51:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13013970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: I hooked up with the heir to the Galra Tech Empire … Do I have game or what?In which Lance is a broke as fuck aviation student who meets Keith, the heir to a giant corporate empire, and doesn’t give a damn if he stains Keith’s 800$ tie.INDEFINITE HAITUS (for details see profile)





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance stumbles on some of Pidge’s science equipment that’s just lying on the floor for no reason.
> 
> Keith laughs his ass off at him.
> 
> Lance grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Voltron. I KNOW I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE FOR THE RECORD IS GOING BUT I JUST HAD TO WRITE THIS ONE. It's based off this prompt: Person A is super rich, and Person B is middle-class/poor and instead of Person A bringing Person B to fancy dinners, and getting them front-row tickets to their favourite sporting event, and buying them fancy things, Person B takes Person A to their favourite sit-in diner, goes to a drive-in movie, and takes them to see their favourite piece of illegal graffiti.
> 
> I hope you guys like it, it's again, pretty noncommittal, but I'll be honest, I have more ideas for this than for For The Record. Also, I personally like this story more than For The Record. 
> 
> The title comes from the song "Endlessly" by The Cab. I was thinking of calling it "No Post Code Envy", for like, you know, Lorde, but I chose this cause Lance in ripped jeans ... The rating MIGHT go up, but it'll never be E.

_Hot damn._

“Lance.”

_That boy is fiiiiiiine._

“Lance.”

_What’s with his hair though? Looks super stupid._

“Earth to the Lancester!”

_I bet it’d look sexy if I ran my fingers through it …_

“You’re drooling.”

“Am not!”

Lance wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. His jacket is greasy and could probably use some cleaning. He’ll do it later, once he finds enough quarters for the rest of the load. He frowns. “I wasn’t drooling.”

“Almost,” says Hunk with a roll of his eyes. “Are you going to tell me why we’re here? You’re first up on the simulator tomorrow. You can’t botch it up. I hear the president of the company that makes the tech for the planes likes to scare the newbies on the first day. You don’t want to make a bad impression.”

“You know they call me the Tailor—”

“Because you thread the needle, yeah, whatever. But you know what else you can do with needles? Poke out people’s eyes!”

“It’ll be a flight simulation, there’s no way I can poke out someone’s eye.”

“Knowing you, you’ll manage it somehow.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Lance scans the bar, trying to find Super Hot Mullet Boy who slipped from his view while conversing with Hunk. He doesn’t understand _how_ he could lose sight of the only person in the 21st century who dares to wear such an old haircut, but somehow he’s managed it. 

_Ah. There he is._

“Hey Hunk, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to—”

“Crash and burn?”

“Hey! I’ve got tons of moves!”

“Yeah, sure. That’s why Nyma’s brother came to our door last week, to ask to have a threesome.”

“Do you think they’d be up for that?”

“You’re disgusting, Lance.”

The Cuban brushes off the quip with the wave of his hand. “You know you love me.” He has to act quick, before he loses track of Super Hot Mullet Boy again, so with confidence in his stride, Lance goes in for the kill.

The closer he gets to the male, the more he starts noticing some things. Things like a Rolex watch, and the cuff-links of his shirt. Lance almost trips up, almost doesn’t approach him because shit, he’s so far out of his league! But he forces himself forward because it’s all about the confidence and selling it.

Lance signals the bartender. “I’ll have a Take Me Home.”

Super Hot Mullet Boy doesn’t react.

Lance slides into the seat next to him and tries not to be intimidated by the cleanly pressed dress shirt he’s wearing. “Unless you’d rather? Take me home, that is.” He adds in a wink to make sure it’s extra suave.

Super Hot Mullet Boy turns to him at that. He has the strangest eye colour— indigo? “What if I want _you_ to take _me_ home, instead?”

Lance falters when he sees the smirk on the other’s face. He recovers quickly though. “I’m down for anything.”

Super Hot Mullet Boy sizes him up. 

Lance knows he’s good looking. He has a nicely shaped face, his eyes are a popping blue, his frame is slim and lithe, but he has muscle definition too. He’s not dressed his best tonight, but it’s not about the clothes you wear, it’s about how you wear them. 

“I’m Keith,” says Super Hot Mullet Boy, holding out a hand.

Lance isn’t used to shaking hands with people— it feels too formal— but he takes it all the same. “The name’s Lance. What’s a pretty rich boy like you doing around here, on the rough side of town?”

“Maybe I’m thinking of taking a walk on the wild side.” He has a mischievous gleam in his eye that Lance can totally work with. “Feel like joining me?”

_Score!_

Lance quirks an eyebrow. “Yours or mine?”

“Yours.”

His answer seems a bit quick, but maybe Keith’s just that into him.

Lance’s apartment is a mess. He shares with Hunk and Pidge, the latter of whom is the only one who actually keeps his portion of the house clean. The Cuban’s bedroom is a complete mess, with books thrown everywhere and a very large pile of laundry. He knows he can’t use Hunk’s room, Hunk would kill him (which sucks, cause Hunk has the biggest bed). So instead he’ll have to improvise. That’s okay. Lance is good at improvising.

Lance takes Keith outside, the cool air whipping through both boys’ hair. 

Lance looks around for a Lamborghini, but he doesn’t see one. Instead he sees a bike. The coolest fucking bike he’s ever set his eyes on.

“HOLY SHIT! Is that _yours_?”

Keith laughs.

Lance thinks he’s found his new favourite sound.

“Uh, yeah.”

Lance’s car isn’t even all that impressive. It’s an old piece of junk that’s holding onto the last of its engine, and he could lie and say it’s one of those old fashion cars that looks really cool, even if the engine sucks, but he’d be lying. It’s a small, cramped buggy. Its shoddy blue paint job may be its only redeeming feature. He drove here with Hunk’s car though, and thank God Keith has a ride, because Hunk is still inside the bar and that would be an awkward conversation.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

Lance’s grin splits his whole face in half.

“Fuck yeah!”

He tells Keith where he lives and the ride there is amazing. The feeling of Keith’s warm back on his front, and his cologne … 

_His cologne probably costs more than my rent._ Lance pushes that thought aside. He’s not going to let something stupid like money get in the way of a great night.

They don’t even make it to the room before Keith is on him, hands grabbing at his face, pulling him in. He’s pressed up against the elevator and Lance has to kick at the button to get it to go up. Good thing he has such good aim. 

Lance has to push the half-Korean aside gently to get the key in the lock and even then, Lance stumbles on some of Pidge’s science equipment that’s just lying on the floor for no reason.

Keith laughs his ass off at him.

Lance grins.

* * *

When he wakes up the next morning, there’s a number on his arm in Sharpie. He’s missed his alarm, but he grins the whole way to school.

He bursts into the room, giddy. 

Today is Flight Simulation Day, and Lance gets first dibs after begging the teacher. 

“McClain, care to explain why you’re late?” 

“So sorry, Professor, alarm wouldn’t go off,” Lance says, bowing.

“Get up, the president of Galra Technology’s sons are here today to oversee your initiation. Do not make a fool of yourself.”

_Shit. The rumour’s true?_

Lance straightens himself back up, flashing his signature smile for good measure when it slips off his face abruptly.

There, standing to the right of his teacher is fucking Super Hot Mullet Boy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _r bowties or ties sexier_ (9:13)
> 
> Keith gapes.
> 
>  **THAT’S what you think is important?** (9:14)
> 
>  _of course not_ (9:14)
> 
>  _i need 2 kno how many poor dogs have been forced in2 uncomfortable clothes too_ (9:14)

_Okay, calm cool head, you can do this Lance. Don’t freak out._

Lance tries to detach his jaw from the floor. Hopefully it’s working because he can’t really wrap his head around this.

Super Hot Mullet Boy is one of the Galra Technology’s president’s sons? 

His eyes skip over the other two, older looking boys.

_I hooked up with the heir to the Galra Tech Empire … Do I have game or what? Take that, Hunk!_

He knows there are more important things to focus on, like the flight simulation he’s been super psyched about, so he apologies again for making a disturbance and sits down. 

The oldest of the three boys, a tall man with silver hair and sharp piercing eyes stands at attention. “You are here because you have decided to take on the challenge of the Garrison’s Aeronautics program.” Lance is surprised. He has an accent. “You will be using Galra Tech’s navigation system, among other things. Father funds this school and its faculty because he believes its an investment worth making. Hopefully, you will prove him right.”

The tall man with the dark hair with a white streak in it jumps in, waving his hands. “What he means to say is that we’re happy to offer you this opportunity. I’m a passionate flyer myself,  and I wish there had been a program like this one for me when I was in school. The piloting program in particular is a special interest of mine, and I hope that you all become successful pilots in the future!”

The teacher turns to Keith.

How the fuck didn’t Lance notice last night? 

Keith has money. How the fuck did he not ask where his money came from? 

_To be fair, you were preoccupied with … other things._

Lance shook away the thought.

So Keith’s not only a pretty rich boy, he’s the pretty rich boy son of fucking Zarkon Galra, the founder of the biggest tech corporation in the world. 

Lance frowns.

_Does that mean Keith likes caviar?_

It’s dangerous territory, to dabble with a guy so out of his league, who has more money in his spare change than Lance has in his whole wallet. Sons of corporate business owners tend to be stuck-up, entitled bastards who don’t give a fuck about anything but money. But last night with Keith had been fun. He had been thinking about calling him again, for a real date.

It wasn’t that the sex was amazing (which, it was). It was that it had been fun, and not fun in the sense that Lance had gotten to hook up with a really hot guy fun, but like, fun as in, after “I tripped over science equipment, we proceeded to do some make-shift science in the kitchen, which turned into a make-out session, until you got baking soda in my eye and somehow, me sitting on the edge of a disgusting bathtub with an icepack over my eye, didn’t turn you off, so instead we had amazing sex in my dirty room, which you didn’t mind, and you left me coffee in the morning” fun.

Would he really let something as minor as Keith’s birthright into huge amounts of dough stop him from trying?

There’s something about Keith that just screams different to him. Lance is curious.

“Would you like to say anything?” asks the teacher, staring pointedly at Keith.

Lance fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, Keith’s number is still written on it. Should he call him?

Keith surveys the room. Lance can feel everyone holding their breath.

“Don’t fuck up.”

Lance can’t help it. He bursts out laughing.

Oh yeah, he’s _totally_ calling him.

* * *

_Shit, shit, shit fuckfuckidyfuckfuck!_

Keith has to school his features when he sees Super Hot Cuban run into the classroom late. 

The _one_ time he decides to do something daring, it turns out he’s a fucking student, and a student at Zarkon’s aviation school. This is just his luck. What were the chances of this happening to him?

(Keith really likes the sound of his laugh, though.)

Keith had felt drawn to him last night, and he knows exactly what it was about him. It was the easy jokes and the carefree attitude and the way he held himself with so much confidence, the way he strode into a room and owned it. Part of it was how greasy his jacket was, because Keith knows he doesn’t have his life together and he must be some kind of terrible mess with student loans up to his eyes and he probably eats microwaveable dinners, or take-out, but it’s so appealing after so many people in fancy suits and strained conversations. 

Lance McClain is free and Keith wants a taste of that freedom.

Last night had been fun, and not in the “ha I’m rebelling against my parents, in your face Father!” kind of fun. It was more like a “we giggled our way through the whole act of sex, and when I wouldn’t take my socks off, you teased me for it and we started a tickle fight, which somehow made me even more turned on?” fun.

Course, now that Lance knows, there’s no way he’s going to like Keith. _No one_ likes Keith once they know who his father is, and if his father doesn’t turn them off, it’s Lotor. If Lotor doesn’t turn them off, then it’s probably Keith himself, because he’s never been able to hold down a relationship because he just doesn’t _do_ social, and it’s hard for him. And if it’s not Keith who manages to fuck it up, it’s them because the only thing they care about is his Goddamn money that Keith never asked for.

Today is Flight Simulation Day. He knows because Lotor was grumbling about how the undeserving brats are going to be using their tech from today onwards and that’ll be a nightmare, so if Shiro doesn’t prove his whole “the sky is the future” idea soon, Lotor’s pulling the plug on the whole project.

Lance is the one in the simulator.

Keith has never actually flown before. He wishes he could, because the sky looks so open, like there’s anywhere and everywhere to go and he can do whatever the fuck he wants and no one can tell him no, or where to go and— wait, that’s _Aladdin_. 

The point is the sky offers a kind of liberty that Keith has never known.

He almost feels sad that he dropped out before he could get his licence. 

He can’t stand to watch Lance in the simulator, going for all the things Keith never tried to go for himself. 

Just as he’s about to exit, he gets a text.

 _u never told me u were zarkon fucking galras son_ (9:12)

Keith sighs.

Figures.

 **It never came up.** (9:13)

Lance is typing. Keith waits for him to tell him to forget about last night when—

 _tell me the truth_ (9:13)

 _r bowties or ties sexier_ (9:13)

Keith gapes.

 **THAT’S what you think is important?** (9:14)

 _of course not_ (9:14)

 _i need 2 kno how many poor dogs have been forced in2 uncomfortable clothes too_ (9:14)

This is _not_ what Keith was expecting.

 **Aren’t you still in the simulator?** (9:15)

 _u should kno i can multitask ;)_ (9:15)

 **FOCUS ON THE SIMULATOR BEFORE YOU CRASH** (9:15)

 _worried bout me_ (9:15)

 _k fine ill focus_ (9:17)

 _BUT_ (9:17)

 _u have 2 do sth 4 me_ (9:17)

 **Why do I feel like I should be afraid?** (9:17)

 _bcuz u should b_ (9:17)

 _VERY afraid_ (9:17)

 **This favour doesn’t involve murdering anyone, does it?** (9:17)

 _god no_ (9:17)

 _im done @ 3_ (9:18)

 _i wanna show u sth_ (9:18)

 **If I agree, will you focus on the simulation?** (9:19)

 _cross my heart & hope 2 die _(9:19)

 _stick a needle in my eye_ (9:19)

 _but not rly cuz ow_ (9:20)

Keith laughs.

Shiro looks over at him. “Who are you texting?”

Lotor shoots a glare at him. “Pay attention to the simulation, Father needs to know how well it functions.”

Keith turns his gaze onto the simulation. 

It’s designed to allow onlookers to see the pilot’s field of vision, as well as the pilot themselves. Keith is drawn in by the open blue skies and the big, fluffy clouds. Lance flies into one and if Keith just closes his eyes, he can almost imagine the feel of wind on his cheeks.

Who _hasn’t_ dreamt of being able to fly? As much as humans try, the closest they can come to it is with airplanes and Keith hates them. You can’t control an airplane, you’re not out in the breeze, you can’t touch a cloud (he knows scientifically you can’t either, but still). There’s a disconnect when you fly with a barrier like that.

When Keith opens his eyes, it’s Lance’s expression that pulls him in.

He has the biggest grin on his face, and his eyes getting larger by the second, like he can’t believe what he’s taking in. It’s beautiful, to see him like this. Keith thinks he’s never been more attracted to Lance, and he’s seen him naked. There’s a child-like wonder in his eyes that makes him so boyish and adorable, Keith can’t help but smile.

Lance has a landing with slight turbulence, but otherwise, it goes perfectly. Before he unbuckles his belt, he winks directly at the camera.

“I think the pilot’s flirting with you,” says Shiro, nudging him in the ribs gently.

Keith doesn’t trust his mouth to work, so he just shakes his head.

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” Shiro teases. “He was totally shellshocked to see you. Tell me you don’t think he’s attractive, I dare you.”

“Maybe you want to have a go at him?”

“Eh, not my type.”

“Stop mumbling,” Lotor snaps. “Though our presence was required due to obligation, that does not permit the two of you to sully Father’s name. Do not make Father regret putting you in charge of things, Shirogane.”

Shiro wrinkles his nose at his full name.

Keith knows that though Shiro’s name is tacked onto the end of Lotor’s comment, it’s really directed at him. He’s the newest edition to the business, which makes him easy meat and Lotor has never really liked him.

“About our schedule,” says Keith quietly, “is there any … uh, availability this afternoon?”

Lotor turns to Keith, his gaze scrutinizing. “Availability?” he echoes.

Keith does not gulp. He keeps it in. However, a squeak does escape him.

“You are working as a Galra now, do not expect much free time.”

Keith turns to see Lance getting out of the simulator. Everyone is giving him high-fives and he’s grinning widely.

That freedom … Keith wants it.

He looks back at Lotor, with his straight posture and neatly pressed clothes.

Keith doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to feel suffocated by responsibilities he feels no affiliation to, he doesn’t want to live a life dictated by a strict agenda that gives him no time to breathe. He wants what Lance has.

He’s going to get out of the schedule. 

Somehow.

Keith has never gone against Zarkon before. He doesn’t even know if this will be worth it; to disobey the scariest businessman the world has ever known for a boy who has holes in his jeans and smells like mini-mart cologne, and still has his number written on his arm in Sharpie, like he hasn’t showered. 

Maybe it won’t be worth it, maybe he’ll never speak to Lance again after three o’clock today. Maybe he’ll just be another face in the sea of people that Keith passes every day, but Keith is going to do this because it sounds insane but that night with Lance felt like the first time Keith had ever breathed in his life.

And Keith is going to chase down that feeling, no matter what it takes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The fuck are you doing?”
> 
> “Serenading you?”
> 
> “Is that a question or a statement?”
> 
> “Depends.”
> 
> “On what?”
> 
> “Is it working?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, Keith is a bit complicated in this chapter because I originally had him being with the Galras for like, several months but then I was like CRAP, he won't be fancy enough for Lance, so then I changed it abruptly and so it's slightly different. I don't think any of the remains of that are left, but I can't guarantee. Anyway, I hope you guys like it.

Lance waits.

And waits.

Keith is nowhere to be seen.

He tries not to get disappointed, because really, what’s he expecting? Keith has tons of money and Lance has like, none. 

_Why would he want to hang out with you?_

The dark-skinned teen shakes his head. No, maybe Keith forgot?

Biting his lip, he slides his phone open and stares at the clock.

3:20 PM.

_It’s not needy to text him, right? You’ve already double-texted, and like, he hasn’t totally hated you for it. So like, you can text him again. Yeah, totally. This is just checking in on him. Making sure he hasn’t been hit by a bus or like, a fancy limousine or something._

With that in mind, Lance opens up Messenger and blanks.

What does he say? The reality of Keith’s wealth has suddenly hit him and if Keith is out of his league just by the way he owns that mullet, he’s totally out of Lance’s social class too.

He can’t let that psyche him out.

_Deep breaths, Lance. You got this._

_sup_ (15:20)

He gives himself a pat on the back. That was smooth.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

Lance isn’t checking his phone every few minutes because that’d be needy and kind of desperate and he wants Keith to like him dammit, and being clingy is weird, so he doesn’t do anything when it’s been five minutes and there’s no answer.

_What if he died? What if the guy with an accent murdered him? What if he’s stranded on an island with only a volleyball as his mind gets slowly untethered?  WHAT IF THIS IS LIKE_ **_PRETTY WOMAN_ ** _AND I’M THE HOOKER?!_

When Lance checks his phone again, he sees his message has been read.

But not replied to.

_The fuck?_ Why is Keith doing this to him?

“Uh, Lance?”

The aforementioned boy looks up to see his Samoan friend watching over him, concerned. “How’d the simulation go?”

“Good, good,” Lance waves him off.

“You didn’t crash and burn?”

“Ha! You wish!”

“You okay? You’re kinda … acting weird. Did that guy with the mullet do something to you last night?”

“What? No! I just … Do you think I’m a hooker?”

Hunk blinks.

“Can you repeat that?”

With the way Lance is running his fingers through his hair, he’s sure to become bald.  He’s stressing over a guy he barely knows _way_ too much to be healthy. “It’s just … I … agh! So you know like, that guy I hooked up with last night? It turns out he’s actually the heir to the Galra corporation— well, _one_ of the heirs, the guy’s got three sons, you know? And I think I’m in way over my head but I think I really like him because he wrinkles his nose when he laughs and it’s really adorable and like, he's not responding to my text, and it says read, but he hasn't replied and WHY IS HE DOING THIS HUNK? DOES HE UNDERSTAND WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?”

“Okay, wait, calm down before you have an aneurism,” Hunk advises, placing his hands on Lance’s shoulders to bring him down from his state of insane freak-out. “Start at the beginning. Last I remember, you had just left the club to be with some guy who looked way too loaded to go for you.”

“That’s because he’s the son of Zarkon fucking Galra!”

“You got with a _Galra_?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously? _You_?”

“I told you, I have game!” Lance sticks his hands in his pockets and fiddles with a piece of lent in them. “I mean, I _had_ game. We said we’d meet up and stuff, but like—”

Lance’s pants vibrate and he jumps like he’s on fire. Reflexively, he lets go of his phone and it crashes to the ground.

“Smooth.”

“Shut up.”

They both stare at the phone.

“Are you going to pick it up?”

“Should I?”

Hunk shrugs. “Maybe it’s that guy.”

“But what if it’s not?” It took Lance _years_ to quit the nail-biting habit. Now it’s back with a vengeance in a matter of seconds.

“But what if it _is_?”

“But what if it’s _not_?”

“You realize we can go back and forth like this forever, right?” Hunk rolls his eyes. “Just pick it up and get it over with.”

“But—”

The phone vibrates again, a text flashing on the screen, telling him it’s been 2 minutes since he hasn’t checked his text. 

“Well, at least you know the phone isn’t broken.”

“Yeah, there’s that.”

Hunk rolls his eyes. “I don’t get it, you were so smooth last night, you got him to go to bed with you once, why can’t you just pick up the damn phone?”

“Because! That was _then_ , this is _now_. I was … I was cooler then.”

“You’re never cool.”

“That’s hurtful.”

“But true.”

“Are you going to keep abusing me?” Lance asks. “Because I’m starting to feel attacked in this relationship, and I know how to get myself out of unhealthy partnerships—”

“Stop stalling and pick up the damn phone.”

Lance looks down at the phone on the concrete.

He has to take it. He can’t be all talk and no game. 

Trying to ignore how his fingers tremble, Lance picks up the phone and unlocks it. 

The small crack in the corner has remained a small crack. He knows it won’t be long before it takes over his entire screen and touching his phone will be like a game of DDR with his fingers, trying to touch the right portion at the right time to avoid getting a nasty cut. He can’t afford to replace the screen though, and a new phone it out of the question.

**Hey, my schedule is really tight. Sorry, I don’t think I can make it.** (15:35)

Lance frowns.

“He turn you down?”

“Says he has something in his schedule.” Lance’s eyebrows crease. 

He’s psyched himself up for this. He can’t just back down at the slightest obstacle. 

_where r u (_ 15:40)

“What are you doing?” 

Lance holds up a finger to signal Hunk to be quiet as he waits for Keith’s response. His stomach does a weird thing when he sees those dots appearing, telling him Keith is answering.

**What are you planning?** (15:40)

_nth_ (15:40)

**Why don’t I believe you?** (15:40)

_bcuz u shouldnt_ (15:40)

_where r u_ (15:41)

**1984 Dailbazaal St, 3rd floor** (15:42)

**I regret this already** (15:42)

_u should_ (15:42)

“I don’t like that look in your eye.”

“What look?”

“You have that ‘I’m plotting’ look, and I don’t like it.” Hunk frowns. “I’m not going to end up hiding in a garbage can again, am I? Because you know Pidge wouldn’t let me into the apartment until the stink wore off—”

“How was I supposed to know there was a skunk nearby?”

“By smelling it?” Hunk shakes his head. “I’m not doing it, whatever you want me to do. You’ve forced me into enough of your schemes before, this is where I draw the line!”

“But Huuuuuuunk…”

“Nope. Puppy dog eyes don’t work on me.”

“I really like him!”

“You really liked Nyma—”

“Nyma was like, an eight. He’s like … He’s like _way_ more than that. Hunk, he broke the scale! You know how seriously I treat the scale. _He fucking broke it!_ He’s like, up there in the three digit numbers, which like, with the way the scale is designed, you know is impossible!”

“You’ve already gotten laid, I don’t see why you need my help—”

“This isn’t about getting laid!” Lance says, gesturing wildly with his arms. “You know how you’re always going on about that soulmate shit about Shay? I don’t know how it’s supposed to work, like if the world is supposed to stop spinning or something and turn on its axis and like, freeze time while a heavenly choir sings, but when he saw my NASA poster, he started talking about a faked moon landing and how people going to Mars are going to be destroyed by the aliens because they aren’t Matt Damon. I cannot let that boy get away from me without trying!”

Hunk blinks.

Lance waits.

Hunk sighs.

* * *

“I can’t believe you used the soulmate card.”

Lance adjusts his costume in the rear-view mirror and grins, satisfied.

“This guy better be worth it—”

“Oh, he so _is_ Hunk, you don’t even know!” The brunet ties up his laces and shoulders his bag around his waist comfortably. “Besides, I’ve had crazier schemes.”

“Not many.”

“What about the time I got Alejandro’s bully to shit his pants, thinking that Alex really ran a secret drug ring that would have his guys assassinate him?”

“You are the embodiment of pure evil, and I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

“It’s my charm.”

Lance straightens up and smiles. “How do I look?”

“Stupid.”

“But …?”

“Passable.”

“Awesome.”

Lance opens the car door and nearly tumbles out in his excitement. He straightens up quickly and dusts off his clothes. It’s not much, and really, he just rummaged through Hunk’s old stuff, so they’re a bit big on him, but they should do.

He presses the buzzer.

“Hello?”

_Oh thank God it’s not that man with the accent_. Lance doesn’t know how he’d handle him. 

“Yes, hello? I have a delivery.”

“We didn’t order anything.”

“Did I say delivery? I meant a memo.”

“But you said delivery.”

“Yes, but it seems I’ve been mistaken—”

“How can you be mistaken about what you’re carrying?”

“I have … terrible vision.”

There’s no response.

_Shit._

Lance is starting to sweat up a storm when there’s a sigh from the other line. 

“I’ll let you in, you can figure it out on your way up.”

The door makes a buzzing sound and Lance enters the building, turning around to give Hunk a thumbs-up. His friend is facepalming. 

_Rude._

The place is fancy, with marble floors and there’s even a statue of Zarkon Galra made out of some kind of material that Lance could try to name, but he’d probably guess wrong. He can see his reflection in the tiles and has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. It’s so … _cliché_. Like every stereotypical rich guy from every movie Lance has ever seen, and some he hasn’t. If this were a superhero movie, it’d be the headquarters of the main villain. 

He calls the elevator and gets in.

Pressing 3, he waits for the doors to close when suddenly, someone comes racing towards him in a business suit. 

“HOLD THE ELEVATOR!”

Lance doesn’t know which button it takes to hold the doors (they don’t make sense, are the triangles the door or are they the space that the door leaves?) but it doesn’t matter because the man shoves his hand in between the doors right before they close and slips in. 

Lance looks straight ahead, refusing to look at the man. He’s kind of a mess. Then again, considering how Lance is dressed, he doesn’t have any room to talk.

“Do I know you?” asks the man suddenly and Lance turns.

_Shit._

_It’s one of Zarkon’s kids._

_Fuck, what’s his name?_

Lance shakes his head so fiercely, his fake moustache almost falls off.

“Are you sure? Because I think I’ve seen you before.”

Lance watches as the numbers on the elevator rise, waiting for the cold, imminent hand of death when they ding open and he hops out, nearly tripping himself to get away. He crashes into a table that’s opposite the elevator doors and the doors close, concealing the confused man before he can watch the potted flowers hit the floor and shatter.

_Shit._

Lance makes a quick attempt to clean up the mess, but realizes that he’s just making things worse, so he collects as much of it as he can and shoves it into his bag. No one’s going to miss some stupid petunias, right?

Gathering his bearings, Lance figures Keith must be in the room at the end of the hallway with the plaque on it that reads: _Keith K._

Lance makes his way down the carpeted hallway, knocks on the door, and promptly has his brain catch up to his actions.  

This is _crazy_. 

Lance should turn around while he still has his dignity. He can’t seriously think Keith wants more than a one-off thing with him. He’s probably had much more refined people than Lance, and he can have a whole line-up of wealthy suitors. What chance does Lance have?

Keith pokes his head out of the door just as Lance is about to turn around.

“Uh … hi?”

None. Lance has no chance. Not against Keith’s adorably confused face.

“ _¡Hola!_ You ordered a pizza?” He’s being so racist right now. Mamá would not approve.

“What are you talking about?”

“Yes, a pizza with pineapples?”

The biracial boy’s indigo eyes widen. “ _Lance_? Is that you?”

Lance clears his throat. He looks ridiculous, but again, it’s all about owning it, even if what he’s owning is an old, greasy delivery-boy uniform with a terrible sombrero that he finds to be way too racist, and fake facial hair. He salutes and clicks his heels together. “At your service!”

Keith grabs him by his collar and pulls him inside the office, slamming the door shut.

“Whoa there, take me to dinner first, why don’t you?” His laugh isn’t that nervous, right? _Right?_

Keith is looking at him like he’s grown three heads. The poor rich boy doesn’t have a clue what’s happening.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

“I am kidnapping you,” Lance declares with more confidence than he feels.

“Kidnapping me?”

“Okay, maybe that’s not the right way to put it, more like I’m abducting you? That actually sounds scarier. So wait, it’s more like I’m … hmmm, like … I’m temporarily borrowing you without your permission— why are you laughing at me?”

Keith points at the hat.

Lance flicks it with his finger. “Too much?”

“Security is _so_ going to arrest you.”

“Oh yeah? Where are they? I’ll kick their asses!” Lance takes a karate-chopping pose and Keith doubles over in laughter. Lance’s fake-moustache is falling off slightly and it sets Keith off again.

Once the boy calms down, he’s flushed and breathing oddly.

Lance loves it.

_I did that._

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you, I’m renting you out for the day.”

“And I told you, my schedule is crazy—”

“Which is why I’m here to save you from your schedule.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Thank you,” Lance replies with utmost sincerity.

Suddenly, the Cuban’s phone rings.

“Yeah-low?”

“Where are you guys?” It’s Hunk. “There’s this guy who’s looking at me through the window, and he’s giving me the stink eye!”

“I’ll be out soon, just hang on tight!” Lance hangs up. He bows and the sombrero falls off his head, settling around his neck by an elastic band. “After you!”

“Lance, I can’t—”

“Course you can. It’s the same as walking. Right, left, right, left, right, left.”

Keith frowns. “I have obligations here …”

Lance stares at Keith. It’s clear he wants to come with him, he can see it in his eyes, but he keeps looking back at his desk. It’s holding him back.

“Gotcha.”

Lance sends a quick text to Hunk and then takes a seat in the empty chair opposite Keith’s desk. His body sinks into the fabric. It feels more comfortable than his bed. He peels off the fake moustache and grimaces. He may have used too much glue. He can’t keep in the sneeze from the fake hair tickling him underneath his nose. 

“What are you doing?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “If you can’t get away from your schedule, that’s unavoidable. I’ll just hang around here with you.”

The boy with the mullet tilts his head and frowns. It’s adorable. “Won’t you get bored?”

“Oh, definitely. Which is why it’s up to you to keep me entertained.”

Keith stares.

“Unless you really want me to go?” Uncertainty is creeping into his voice and it’s totally _not cool_ , because what if he misread Keith? What if he’s just a huge annoyance, shoving his way into this fancy life? Because Lance has crumpled bills in his back pocket and he’s pretty sure his underwear is pink because of a problem with the washer and he can barely pay his own phone plan. “Because I can just skedaddle if you need me gone. I just told Hunk to leave, but like, I can take a cab,” —he can’t, he doesn’t have enough money on him to get all the way back— “I uh, didn’t really think this all the way through—”

“The moustache was overkill.”

Lance blinks.

The bubble of hope in his stomach starts to swell dangerously.

“You think?”

“Oh, totally.”

The phone on the desk rings.

Keith jumps like someone’s just snuck up on him. Lance finds the way Keith curls up into the large chair like it’s swallowing him up to be adorable. Every expression looks good on Keith.

“Are you going to answer it?” Lance asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I uh …”

It rings again.

“You should answer it.”

“Yeah …”

Again.

“Pick up the damn phone, or _I’ll_ pick it up and I don’t even know what I’m going to say, but it's going to be terrible for business—”

Keith picks up.

“Keith?”

_Shit. It’s that guy from the elevator. Why did he put him on speaker?_

“Yeah, Shiro?”

“I just wanted to call you because I saw a really suspicious looking person in the elevator on my way up and he got off on your floor—”

Keith raises his eyebrow at Lance and Lance has to shove his fist into his mouth to stop himself from bursting out laughing. It’s good to laugh, it distracts him from realizing that the office he's in has a mahogany desk and there are special awards hung up on the wall to show off all of Keith’s honours and — _yeah, ha ha, things are funny, don’t freak out just because he’s accomplished._

“—I was just wondering if I should call security? I mean, I’m sure you’re fine and all, but he looked really weird. And I think he knocked over the flowers.”

Keith has to stop himself from laughing and the way he’s biting his bottom lip is sinful and—

“Keith?”

Keith clears his throat, clearly struggling to compose himself. “Uh, it’s fine Shiro. I think I can handle him.”

“He was wearing this really racist sombrero, I mean, I don’t really trust him—”

“No, that’s fair, I’ll holler if I think I need help, thanks for worrying about me.”

Keith ends the call.

“You broke the vase in the hallway?”

“I uh, may have the remains of it in my bag.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“So I can stay?”

Keith worries his lip. Lance would bite it for him— _no, bad Lance! You’re wooing him right now, think about that stuff later!_ “I mean, I’d like it if you stayed, it’s just that Lotor likes to check up on me a lot, to make sure I’m not like, doing anything weird—”

“What, like watching porn?”

“No!” Keith splutters. “I … oh my God, Lance!”

Lance raises a suggestive eyebrow. “What?”

Keith shakes his head. “I just … I don’t know, with Lotor, I say I think it’s a good idea.”

“But bad ideas are the only ones worth doing.” Lance grins lopsidedly. He knows Keith wants him to stay, he can see it. With that confirmed, he can push the envelope. It doesn’t matter that Keith has several medals and that Lance has none. That’s not what’s important right now. “C’mon, I thought you were taking a walk on the wild side. You can’t be done with me already.”

Keith’s drilling a hole into his lip with how tightly he’s clenching his jaw.

“You know you want to,” Lance prods.

“I—”

“Hmm, _guapo_?”

Keith grins.

“I guess it can’t hurt.”

* * *

Keith can’t believe it. 

Lance is here. He’s _actually here_ , in Keith’s office, sitting across from him, trying to make a paperclip necklace. He’s sure if he looks at him for too long, he’ll disappear.

He had tried to get away at 2:30, so he’d have time to get back to the Garrison, but Lotor had found him taking his keys and he had lost his nerve when he asked where he was going. 

He had felt bad about it. He really had wanted to speak to him, to see him again, but duty called and Keith just wasn’t sure how to say no.

He had been distracted through all of work, thinking about Lance. An opportunity like that wasn’t going to come again, any time soon. 

He hadn’t expected this.

Turning up in a racist Italian/Mexican delivery boy costume with a fake pizza box is overkill but it’s so Lance, which is weird since Keith knows almost nothing about the attractive Cuban but he feels like this is a very Lance thing to do.

With the energetic dark-skinned boy in his office, Keith is even more distracted.

He probably won’t be getting any of his work done.

Lance grins, proud of himself and his paperclip jewellery. “Come over here,” he says, beckoning Keith forward with a finger.

Keith looks up from his computer (he’s been staring at a blank Word document and has been since he got to the office), and obeys.

“Bow.”

“Bow?”

“Just do it.”

Keith bows.

Lance puts the paperclip necklace around his neck and grins at his accomplishment. “There you go. You are now Knight Keith of Bad Hair Decisions.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You’re the one that went for it, so what does that say about you?”

“I’m an anomaly.”

There’s a knock on Keith’s door. 

It’s Lotor.

“Just a minute!”

Keith grabs Lance by his collar and drags him behind the desk, shoving him underneath. He opens a file about the stock market on his screen and a calculator. Yeah, that makes it look like he’s getting stuff done, right?

“You can come in now!”

“What gives?” Lance whispers.

Keith kicks him.

“Ow!”

Lotor enters and frowns. “What was that?”

“What was what? Did you hear something? Cause you shouldn’t have. There’s just me. And the computer. Maybe you hear the box whining because of how hard I’m working?” 

Keith is a shit liar.

“I hope you realize that your behaviour at the Garrison was highly inappropriate.”

“ _Totally_ inappropriate! What was I thinking? I wasn’t!” Keith’s laugh is _way_ too high.

Lotor frowns. He’s always frowning. “Because you have been given the honour of becoming a member of the business, understand that your actions reflect on the company. I had thought you knew by now that recklessness does not got unpunished in this household, which is why I am saddened that I have to explain this to you. Despite the fact that I have told Father countless times that you are not ready, he has insisted on giving you a position. If you should ever exhibit behaviour similar to today’s, you will not be as lucky as to simply get a lecture. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

Lotor nods curtly. “I will be taking my leave now.”

“You go do that.”

Lotor gives him a strange look. Keith tries not to crumble under his gaze.

“What is around your neck?”

Keith freezes.

“Just a thing,” he blurts out. “Thought I’d make a fashion statement.”

“With paperclips?”

“You know, office-chic.”

“I see …”

Keith wishes he’d just turn around and leave already. His leg is trembling underneath the desk and he’s sure Lance doesn’t like keeping quiet.

“And the sombrero and moustache?”

“Mexican office-chic?” It comes out as a squeak.

“Perhaps if you have enough time to develop a new fashion trend, I should take it to mean that you want more work?”

“NO!”

Lotor raises an eyebrow. 

“I mean, no,” Keith says, correcting his tone. “I just did this on my lunch break,” he gestures to Lance’s work. “Just a quick thing.”

“And the costume?”

“Prank from Shiro.”

“Ah.”

Keith has never heard a less-enthused “ah” in his life.

“Take it off.”

“Hmm?”

“Your office-chic look.” The way he drawls out the word makes it seem like he’s swallowing poison with each syllable. “It’s unprofessional.”

“Right. Course.”

Keith makes to remove it, but it gets caught in his hair.

Lotor sighs, as though he’s sucking in all the world’s air. “I will leave you to … collect yourself.”

Once he closes the door behind him, Keith can finally breathe again.

Lance crawls out from under and chuckles as Keith struggles with the paperclip necklace. He helps him take it off and makes a remark about how, if Keith had chosen a different hairstyle, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

“Maybe I should go? To be safe?”

Lance _should_ go.

It’s dangerous to keep him up here. It was a really close call with Lotor. Keith’s never experienced “fight or flight” quite like it before and it must’ve taken five years off his life. Lance doesn’t belong in a place like Galra Tech, he looks out of place with his gas station stick of gum and five dollar watch that’s designed for 7 year old girls with Dora on the face. 

Lance should really, _really_ go.

“He can go fuck himself.”

Lance’s eyebrows lift into his hairline. “Are you sure? I mean—”

“No, I’m sure. Unless you _want_ to go? Because I won’t keep you here, that’d be terrible of me.” Keith is being so inconsiderate, isn’t he? “I just—”

Lance fiddles with his fingers and his loud persona seems to shrink. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Only if you want.”

Lance grins, and it’s like he never shrunk at all.

“I can make it into a bracelet. You can hide it better.”

Keith’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

* * *

They have a few other close calls. Lotor checks in every hour and a half or so, and Keith panics the same way every time. Lance gets snarky too, and the Galra heir ends up nudging him with his leg a lot to make sure he keeps his snickers to a minimum.

It’s weird.

Keith has never disobeyed someone like this.

He loves it.

He and Lance don’t really talk that much about anything important, and Keith does have work to do, but it’s nice to hear Lance humming under his breath while he sets out to make a large rubber band ball. He even starts to sing “Put the Lime in the Coconut” under his breath.

It’s nine o’clock by the time Lance sneaks his way back out and it’s somehow been Keith’s most productive, as well as least productive day at the same time.

When he gets back from dinner (another fancy restaurant where his phone is prohibited because he’s better than those kids who are so invested in their screens -he’s really not), there’s a text from Lance.

_so the kidnapping didnt work out the way i planned_ (23:16)

_but i still had fun_ (23:16)

_u_ (23:16)

**What did you do with the pizza box?** (23:17)

_used it as a placemat_ (23:17)

_dont avoid my question_ (23:17)

**It was okay** (23:17)

It was way more than okay, but Keith’ll be damned if he tells Lance that.

_i put on a fake moustache 4 u & all i get is ok_ (23:18)

_i see how it is_ (23:18)

**Are you gonna take it or what?** (23:18)

_fine_ (23:18)

_ill accept it_ (23:18)

_but u better brace urself 4 nxt time_ (23:19)

**Next time?** (23:19)

_u dont think this is over do u_ (23:19)

_uve challenged me_ (23:19)

_now i have 2 top it_ (23:19)

_uve basically declared war_ (23:20)

Keith snorts. 

He’s such a dork.

**Looking forward to it**. (23:21) 

* * *

The next day, Keith walks into the office. 

He doesn’t know how Lance plans on seeing him if he’s in school all the time and Keith is always working, but seeing as he was so creative yesterday, Keith has high hopes.

He sits through boring meetings that make him want to hit his head against the table, but he resists. Lotor talks about the stock market values of the company, and how to increase them. He then gives the floor to Shiro who talks about his Garrison Aeronautics program that he’s implemented. A program that Lance is in.

Keith texts Lance during his lunch break.

He doesn’t know what he and Lance are, but he’s assuming friends and while Keith thinks of Lance as hot as hell, he’s fine with being just friends with him because he’d be a friend and Keith can’t remember the last time he actually had one of those.

**Hey.** (12:12)

_hello guapo_ (12:12)

**What does that mean?** (12:12)

_wat does wat mean_ (12:12)

**Don’t act all innocent. You know what I’m talking about.** (12:13)

_havent got the faintest idea_ (12:13)

**You’re full of shit.** (12:13)

**You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?** (12:13)

_ME_ (12:13)

_make U do sth_ (12:13) 

_how dare u accuse me of such a thing_ (12:13)

**What does “guapo” mean?** (12:13)

_does rich boy not kno espanol_ (12:13)

_this could b fun_ (12:13)

**Lance!** (12:14)

**Tell me what it means.** (12:14)

_wat r u gonna do if I dont_ (12:14)

**I’m not sexting you! I’m at work!** (12:14)

_well arent u dirty_ (12:14)

_didnt mean sexting but id b down 4 it_ (12:14)

_how bout i take u somewhere_ (12:14)

**Where?** (12:14)

_dont spoil the surprise_ (12:15)

**But—**

_CLINK!_

Keith looks out his window to see Lance, standing on the street, waving a stone in his hand. 

_How the fuck did he aim that?_

Keith opens his window and sticks his head out. Despite the several weeks he’s had his office, he has never done this before. It’s nice to feel the breeze through his hair. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Serenading you?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Is it working?”

Keith tosses the rock back. It breaks a stranger’s windshield.

_Shit._

Lance is trying not to die of laughter. Keith will strangle him. 

_ill drive the getaway car_ (12:16)

Keith is out of his office in seconds, grabbing his jacket and off-handedly telling the receptionist that he’s going on his lunch break and Lotor better not disturb him.

Once he’s outside, the car’s alarm is much louder than it was three stories up. There’s guilt swelling in his stomach, but it feels _good_ to do something as normal as fuck up. 

Lance grabs Keith by the arm and then he’s being shoved into a small buggy that’s cramped and full of old candy wrappers and McDonald’s bags.

“Hit the gas!”

Lance laughs and the engine comes to life. 

Keith can smell nothing but take-out food. The seat feels sticky, there’s gum attached to the sun visor above the driver’s seat and a cheap air freshener tree hanging from the dash. The radio is playing some Spanish music, Lance’s car windows are rolled down all the way, and the ceiling is too low. Keith can see old magazines from maybe two months ago, an unfinished crossword puzzle, and the car creaks with every turn of the wheel.

Keith _loves_ it.

“This is your car?”

“Would you have gone home with me if I had been driving this thing?”

Keith looks at Lance.

“Probably.”

“Sweet.”

“Where are we going?”

“We,” says Lance, taking too sharp of a turn. Keith feels like his life is on the line with each acceleration of the gas. He can’t decide if it’s from how fast his heart is beating, or if it has to do with Lance’s shitty driving. “Are going to be checking out that place I wanted to take you yesterday.”

“And where is that?”

“Not telling. I told you, it spoils the surprise.”

“Don’t you have school?”

“University student, I don’t got class right now. Not for the rest of the day. I can book it back to your workplace if you want afterwards?”

“Without the moustache?” Keith muses.

“It’s in the glove department, if you want it to make a reappearance.”

Keith laughs. “I makes you look like a washed-out porn star.”

They go through streets and streets. Keith decides not to focus too much on how much time he has left in his break as Lance turns onto a strange road and kills the engine.

“We gotta walk from here, the streets get too narrow, and I can’t afford another dent to this baby,” explains the blue eyed boy. “Do you want me to open the door for you or—”

“You do that and I’ll dig my keys into the side of your car.”

“Ohh, Carrie Underwood?” Lance grins. “You like country?”

Keith blinks.

“You don’t know who Carrie Underwood is?”

“Uh … should I?”

“ _Dios mío,_ ” the Cuban mutters.

Lance opens his car door and the whole car shakes. Keith opens his door. The handle feels sticky beneath his palm and he’s not sure what it’s from. He doesn’t question it though. 

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going where we’re going. I swear, you were that kid who never liked surprise birthday parties, huh?”

“I never had a surprise birthday party.” Keith decides not to mention that he’s never had a birthday party in general, that’s a bit too sad to bring up in a casual conversation. 

Lance grins. “I gotta change that.”

“You don’t even know when my birthday is.”

“I’ll find out. You’re the son of a famous businessman, it can’t be that hard.”

Keith doesn’t mention the state’s record of him is a long one from how often he’s been in and out of the system. 

The dark skinned teen takes him down to narrower roads where they’re squished side by side and the alleyway smells like cat piss, and there are used cigarette-butts littering the floor. Old newspapers and Keith is pretty sure it’s a used condom that’s floating by in the light breeze, along with an empty grocery bag. He nearly steps on a broken beer bottle.

“I’m letting a guy I barely know lead me down the alleyway Bruce Wayne’s parents got murdered in.”

“Nah, that’s another alley, it’s really hard to get in to cause it’s such a tourist attraction,” Lance says casually.

Keith gives him a look.

“What?”

“You’re so ...” _Unpredictable? Witty? Nothing like anyone I’ve ever met? Mind-blowing? Not only good in bed, but you’re actually a decent human being who doesn’t seem to care that I could probably bribe DC into making a comic book about me?_ “Weird.”

“Thanks.”

Lance stops.

“Here we are.”

Keith stares. He’s at a dead end. It’s hard to see because of how dark the alley is. 

“Am I supposed to be looking at something, or have you taken me here to murder me too?”

“Gosh darnit, you caught onto my ingenious plan!” Lance snaps his fingers. “I was going to make so much money off of your corpse too, like _so much_. They would’ve paid a fortune to see it.”

Keith doesn’t have the heart to mention there’s no one who would pay to see him dead. Or alive, for that matter.

“Close your eyes.”

“You really _are_ going to murder me.”

“Come on, you can trust me.”

“I don’t know how much faith I have in a guy who couldn’t remember how to unzip his pants.”

“You were being very distracting! It made it hard for me!”

“I bet.”

Lance gasps over-dramatically. Keith loves it. “Who’s dirty minded now?” 

Lance smells like motor oil, spearmint gum, and terrible deodorant that probably sells for three bucks a stick. Keith can’t explain _why_ , but it turns him on. He doesn’t know what Lance is expecting out of his relationship with Keith, but Keith can do fuck buddies, despite how much he likes Lance, he could push it aside. He leans in close—

“Wow, I know I’m ghetto, but I’m not so ghetto I’d fuck you in an alleyway,” Lance pushes against Keith’s chest lightly. “I told you to close your eyes.”

Keith ignores the plummet of his stomach. If Lance doesn’t want sex with him, what _does_ he want? Is this really friendship? Can Keith hope that he actually has a friend in Lance?

He closes his eyes.

Lance is moving around a bit, and Keith doesn’t know what he’s doing. Is he leaving Keith alone in an alleyway? Is he going to tie him up and throw his body into the river? Despite being with the Galras since he was seven, his survival instinct hasn’t died from his time as a system’s kid. He might be rusty, but he’s ready to kick Lance’s ass if he has to (and it’s a very fine ass, he may mention). 

“Alright, you can open your eyes now.”

Keith does as told.

_Holy shit._

Lance’s phone is shining light onto the wall in front of Keith, revealing a giant mural that takes away his breath.

It’s a robot. Kind of. It’s multicoloured and the appendages all have their own heads, and there are wings? He’s not really sure _what_ he’s looking at, but it’s awesome and it’s brandishing a sword and shield like it’s ready to take on a legion of armies.

“Impressed?” 

“Fuck yeah, I am.” Keith runs his fingers along the cold brick, awestruck by the bold and bright colours. “What is this?”

“Voltron, the legendary defender of the universe.”

“Is he another person I’m supposed to know about?”

“Nah,” Lance says. The light wavers as he comes closer and slings an arm around Keith’s shoulder. “I’d be concerned if you knew about him. He’s my character in my D&D campaign.”

Keith looks up at Lance, who’s smiling down at him blindingly. He can feel his breath on his face, and it’s something cheap that he can’t place but Lance makes it _work_ and he doesn’t know how he does it. “You’re telling me _you_ made this?”

“You like?”

“I love it!”

It really is a work of art. Keith can still remember the graffiti he saw when he was at the orphanage, all the taggers who were so proud of themselves. He remembers feeling inspired by them, but nothing was ever quite as mind-blowing as this piece. “This is … this is really amazing, Lance. You’re really talented.”

“I try.”

Keith shakes his head. “Don’t pretend to be modest, this is fucking awesome.”

“You really think so?”

“I’m not stroking your ego any more, asshat,” Keith says with a laugh. “I think you know how awesome it is.”

“Thought you might like it.”

Keith grins. “I do. I really do.”

He’s is pretty sure Lance is going to kiss him when—

“Shit, you gotta get back to that fucking office, don’t you? I’ll take you.”

Keith opens his mouth, about to tell Lance to fuck his work. He doesn’t have to go back, Lotor only gives him work to keep him occupied, it’s not like he’s doing anything important and he likes hanging out with Lance. 

He wants to spend more time with him. He wants to hear about this Voltron character, and he wants to know more about Lance and his friends and what he does and find out why he always smells like grease and why his clothes can sometimes look too big on him and yet sometimes too small. He wants to know about his shitty car and how it got so busted up and he wants to hear more words in Spanish that he won’t fully understand and he wants to be ridiculed for his lack of knowledge in so many mainstream areas and he just _doesn’t want to go back._

He doesn’t say any of that. 

Keith can’t be selfish.

Despite the fact that it’s been twelve years and he doesn’t feel really “at home” with the Galra, he can’t just abandon his responsibilities. Even if Lotor and Zarkon make Keith feel like a charity case to this day, there’s Shiro, who feels like the closest thing Keith has ever had to a brother and he can’t give that up. Part of him is certain Zarkon is not above sending him back, as if he’s an item of clothing with a return policy (which is _way_ overdue at this point). He can’t lose Shiro, the only thing that feels good to Keith anymore. 

“Yeah, let’s go.”

* * *

The ride back, Lance sings along with the radio, loudly and off-key. Keith laughs along.

When they pull up in front of Galra Tech, Keith gets out of the car and thanks Lance, who shrugs.

“It was nothing,” says the Cuban. “Did I top the paperclip necklace?”

Keith could say that the only thing Lance has to compete with is himself because he’s never experienced anything like this before, but he doesn’t. Instead he shrugs. “Eh, could’ve been better.”

Lance’s jaw drops. “How dare you!” He’s grinning widely. “Hey, so the weekend’s coming up soon, how about you come over to mine and we do something?”

“What, like sex?”

“Hmm, I’ll have to say no to that, roommates’ll be in. But how about I get you some actual pizza?”

That sounds great to Keith.

“I think I can sneak away.”

“Great, _hermoso_. I’ll text you my address.”

Keith goes back to work in a much better mood.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You fucked Zarkon Galra’s son?!”_
> 
> “Hey!” Lance cuts in defensively. “I never said I fucked him—”
> 
> “But _did_ you?”
> 
> “I mean …” Lance twiddles with his thumbs and the blush is creeping onto his cheeks. “We did it both ways cause like … equal opportunity. I gave as good as I got!”
> 
> “How do you fuck the heir to a giant tech corporation and not realize it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own Voltron. Just so happens that when I post this, it's Christmas ... heh. Don't own anything else mentioned in here, but the plot.

“HUNK, I NEED THE VACUUM!”

The Cuban slams the front door shut with his foot and throws his keys skillfully onto the kitchen counter. 

There’s no answer.

“DID YOU HEAR ME? HUNK, I NEED THE VACUUM! Oh, there you are!”

The Samoan is sitting on the couch. It looks disgusting. He’s going to have to clean that. “I think _China_ heard you,” he says with a glare.

“Then why didn’t you answer?”

“I was going to, before you so kindly _ruptured my eardrums_!”

“Someone’s salty,” Lance says. He pointedly ignores Hunk’s eyes. “Anyway, how was I supposed to know you were right near the door?”

“Because I live here?”

Lance waves off his comment. “Anyway, as you heard, I need the vacuum.”

“For what?”

“Heh, heh … I may have done something ….”

“Lance.”

“Hey, it wasn’t a _bad_ thing!” He scratches his head. “At least, I don’t _think_ it was.”

“You didn’t think marathoning all of _Marvel_ was a bad idea—”

“Hey, it is _never_ a bad idea to marathon Chris Evans, Robert Downey Jr, and Sebastian Stan. They’re the holy trinity of those movies!”

“— _right before_ Pidge’s final.”

“How was I supposed to know it was Pidge’s final the next day?”

“They told you. Repeatedly,” Hunk deadpans. He sighs, running a hand over his face. “What did you do this time?”

“Why are you taking that tone with me?”

“Lance, focus. You said you needed the vacuum?”

“Right! Yes! This place is a total mess, we need to make sure it’s all tip-top when he comes over.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. “Mullet Boy is coming over?” 

“Mullet Boy?” 

Lance jumps.

“Pidge, you can’t do that!”

“Sure I can, I just did,” says the too-quiet person who always takes up so much space despite being the smallest of the three residents of the terrible, crummy apartment.  “Who’s Mullet Boy? Is he the reason my science stuff got all fucked up?”

“Maybe …”

“Lance, you have to stop bringing your one-night stands to our apartment, it barely holds all three of us, I don’t know how you expect a fourth to get in here.” The short haired teen pinches the bridge of their nose. “Why is he coming over?”

“I invited him to game night. Sort of. He doesn’t know it’s game night. And he doesn’t really know you guys are gonna be there. But I really like him, so can you _please_ not fuck this up for me?”

They snort. “Shouldn’t you be telling yourself that?”

“You’re so mean, Pidge!”

Pidge rolls their eyes and takes a seat on the couch. They turn to Hunk. “Who’s this Mullet Boy that’s got Lance all tied up in knots?”

“Some guy Lance hooked up with a few days ago.” Hunk shrugs. “Apparently, he’s ‘serious’ about this one.”

They raise a spectacle eyebrow. “How serious?”

“I showed him Voltron.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “And he didn’t go running?”

“He thought it was awesome, thank you very much!” Lance says, puffing out his chest.

“Something has gotta be wrong with that boy.”

“HEY!”

“I mean, really Lance,” Pidge says, “your room is a mess. And you brought him here. _And_ you still got laid somehow. That means some of his screws _have_ to be loose. Was it dark? Could he not see you clearly?”

“You make it sound like I drugged him.”

“Did you?”

“No!”

“He hasn’t even told you the best part,” Hunk adds with a stupid grin on his face.

“And what’s that?”

“Tell them, Lance.”

Pidge turns to Lance expectantly.

Lance scratches the back of his neck. “He’s er … he’s kinda Zarkon Galra’s son.”

Their eyes narrow. “What do you mean kinda?”

“I mean, uh, he is?”

_“You fucked Zarkon Galra’s son?!”_

“Hey!” Lance cuts in defensively. “I never said I fucked him—”

“But _did_ you?”

“I mean …” Lance twiddles with his thumbs and the blush is creeping onto his cheeks. “We did it both ways cause like … equal opportunity. I gave as good as I got!”

“How do you fuck the heir to a giant tech corporation and not realize it?”

“I was a bit busy with … _other things_ , if you get what I’m saying.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Lance crosses his arms. “That’s not helping me.”

“I didn’t say it to help you.”

“Pidge!”

Lance knows Pidge gets a lot of fun out of teasing him, but he’d hoping they’d be agreeable just this once. 

He really does like Keith, an unnatural amount for a boy he’s barely been around, but there’s something addicting about his personality. Lance can tell that he’s always trying to be better than he is around others, his interactions with Lotor are proof enough of that. He’s supposed to act refined, and snobbish, like every other rich person Lance knows, but he doesn’t. Keith has a very poorly held together veil of composure as he tires to fake his way through life. The boy sucks at faking it, and Lance loves it.

The night with Keith hadn’t been a fluke. The boy with the mullet really _did_ like weird things on his food and he hummed old songs under his breath while he worked. Just yesterday, Keith had sent him a terrible selfie of himself wearing Lance’s paperclip bracelet. Lance doesn’t have the slightest clue what made him think _that_ was a good angle because it made him almost unrecognizable but that somehow made it even more endearing.

He knows that Keith is out of his league. If he stops to think about it too much, he’ll start worrying about how Keith is surely judging him by his unimpressive wardrobe and the way he always smells like he’s rolled around in oil, but if he hated it, Lance would know. As previously stated, Keith _sucks_ at faking it. 

He feels a little less stupid trying to pursue him.

“Pidge, please! You don’t understand, I bet you’d like him! He’s like …” He searches desperately for a comparison he can make. “You know those rich bastards with corn stuck so far up their ass, they walk with a weird limp? It’s like he’s got the dough, but has escaped the corn in his ass! He does this thing where he jumps whenever his phone vibrates, like he doesn’t know how to use one and it’s the greatest thing _ever_! 

“The boy has probably never played a video game in his life. You have to save him from his sad existence.”

Pidge frowns, their brow creasing. Lance can feel them starting to give in.

“I won’t even make you clean up or anything. You can keep your science shit wherever you want—”

“It’s not shit—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Lance waves them off. “I think he’d even _like_ _it_ if you kept your science shit— _stuff_ around, he’s a closet science nerd!”

Pidge’s eyes narrow. “Were you the ones who used my equipment?”

Lance shuffles his feet, but he doesn’t have time to get all scared of Pidge, not right now, not when Keith will be over in a _day_ and Lance knows the entire apartment is a mess. “Listen, I’ll do _everything_ , you guys won’t have to lift a finger! Just … don’t ruin this for me? Can you just … don’t make him too uncomfortable, don’t like, make him run out screaming, okay?”

“The fact that he hasn’t already makes me think he deserves a medal.”

“Yes! Keep that impressed face and think about it for a bit. He’s totally insane to hang out with me, you have to meet him to see whether or not he actually does have a few screws loose, which means you have to let me clean! And you have to see how he like, reacts to me.”

“You’re not going to do anything weird, right?” says Pidge. “Because I really don’t want to walk in and see you sucking face with someone—”

“He’s already put on a fake moustache,” Hunk cuts in.

“Traitor,” Lance growls under his breath while Pidge laughs themselves off the couch.

“I have to meet this guy. What’s his name?”

“Yeah, you never mentioned,” Hunk points out. “Did you sleep with someone without asking their name? Because that’s low, even for you—”

“Of course I know his fucking name!” Lance says, rolling his eyes. “It’s Keith.”

“Keith.” Pidge tests the word out on their tongue. “Sounds like an asshole.”

“But he’s a loveable asshole.”

They shrug. “Just don’t let him near my room.”

That’s as good as a yes from Pidge. He turns to Hunk. “So, about where the vacuum is?”

Hunk shakes his head with a sigh. “The apartment is small, but the mess is too big for one person. I’ll help.”

Lance really loves his friends.

* * *

“I got a call from Sendak. He says someone broke his windshield.”

_Shit. Stay cool Keith. What would Lance do?_

“Oh, really?” He hopes his voice doesn’t crack.

“Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Keith hates it when Lotor talks to him at the meeting table. It always feels like he’s at a formal dinner party and he and Lotor are the only guests. It’s as awkward as family reunion dinners, or as awkward as Keith imagines they’d be. 

“No, haven’t got a clue.”

Lotor’s gaze is piercing and unnerving. It makes Keith uncomfortable, which, he supposes, is the goal.

“I see.”

The silence is deafening.

Keith tries not to flinch or fidget. It’s hard. Even if he wasn’t guilty, he’d want to fidget and flinch. Lotor is really intimidating and Keith’s hands always feel useless at his sides, limp like lifeless … arm-things. 

“Mr. Galra?” comes a voice from over the intercom. “You have an appointment soon.”

The expression on Lotor’s face says he’s going to ask his secretary to cancel his appointment, or reschedule, but then he sighs (he’s always so dramatic) and pushes out his chair. 

“You are an adult now. Understand that. There are responsibilities that fall upon you that did not before. You are to take them as seriously as you would a heart attack. Father has decided it is time you joined the business, ignoring my claims that you are not yet prepared. For your own sake, do not let Father’s trust in you be misplaced.”

He trusts out of the room (Lotor always trusts. Keith doesn’t think he’s ever walked a day in his life).

The door closes quietly.

Keith almost preferred it slammed.

He sits in silence at the opposite end of the long table and takes a deep breath.

He’s got this.

The door opens again.

_Shit no, I don’t got this! I take this back! Abort! Abort!_

Shiro pops his head in. Keith relaxes instantly. 

The second eldest Galra is much warmer than Lotor, and Keith can understand why. Lotor is the only blood relative of Zarkon.

“Hey, Keith.”

“Hi, Shiro.”

“Are you busy?”

Keith gestures to the empty room with a sweeping arm. “Totally blocked up.”

Shiro laughs. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something. A friend to a friend.”

Keith is pretty sure the only friend he’s ever had is Shiro. Unless something is changing with Lance? “Sure.”

“It’s about that guy from the other day … the one I called about with the racist sombrero?”

A part of Keith wonders why people fixate on the whole “racist” bit of the costume, but then he remembers how stupid Lance looked and yeah, it was totally racist. 

“Yeah?”

“He was that pilot, wasn’t he?”

Keith doesn’t have water, but he can assure you that if he did, he’d be doing a spit-take.

“W-what?”

“He’s that pilot from the Garrison, the one who winked at you?”

“He could’ve been winking at anyone—”

“ _HA_! So it was him!”

Shiro’s grin is annoying Keith. He can’t believe he fell for it.

“Fuck …”

Shiro grins and takes a seat closer to Keith. There’s a single chair separating them. Keith almost wishes Shiro would sit directly next to him. Shiro is warm. He likes Lotor’s cold distance from him. Lotor often makes him feel sick to his stomach. Shiro is like hot chocolate after a blizzard. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” says Shiro, giving Keith a pat on the shoulder. “So he snuck in to see you?”

Panic fills him when he thinks about Lotor and Lance talking to each other. “You can’t tell Lotor, he’ll have him killed!”

Shiro laughs. “This isn’t the 1800s. We’ve moved past that, no matter how medieval Lotor seems.”

Keith worries his bottom lip between his teeth and sighs. “I just … He’s different, you know? He’s so cool, in the dorkiest way. He wears mismatched socks, and I think there’s like, expired margarine in his fridge. And he doesn’t seem embarrassed about any of it, he makes it work for him. I don’t know how he does it, but he just radiates this _confidence_ and it’s like he has no shame? And not in a bad way either, kind of like, take me as I am sort of thing, cause I’m not chaining for anyone.”

Shiro strokes his chin thoughtfully, as though he has a beard or something. “I see …”

“Shut up, I’m being serious.” Keith pushes him lightly in the shoulder.

“I get it,” Shiro says. “You like him.”

“Of course I like him Shiro, you saw the way he flew in the simulator!”

“No, Keith. I mean you _like_ him.”

Keith frowns. “Are we in middle school?”

“You may as well be.” Shiro grins. “It’s totally fine to have a crush on someone, Keith. No shame in it.”

“I know that!” Keith is turning red. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “But …”

“Is it because he’s a boy?”

“No, I know he likes me. Well, he likes my _body_ …”

Shiro raises an eyebrow and Keith wants to take everything back, force the words to retreat back into his mouth. “Did my little Keith get some?”

“I’m not your little Keith!” Shiro’s affection still comes as a surprise, even after all these years, and as much as he fights him off, he loves it. 

Shiro ruffles his hair and wipes away a fake tear. “Oh, they grow up so fast!”

“Don’t touch my hair!” Keith laughs, pushing him off. “I mean, it’s just a bit … complicated.”

“What’s so complicated about it?”

“I tried to kiss him a few days ago, but he pushed me away,” says Keith. His stomach drops at the memory. “I don’t know … maybe he just liked me for my looks.”

“Keith, no one who wants a quick fuck puts on a delivery boy uniform. That’s dedication.”

“He probably had it in the back of his closet.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “You really don’t see yourself clearly, do you?”

Keith shrugs. “What’s there to see?”

“He likes you. He totally likes you.” Keith wishes he had the confidence Shiro has to say these sorts of things. “Maybe he just wants to take it slow after going so fast.”

“I don’t know … I think I’m okay if he doesn’t like me. I think I made a friend.”

Shiro nods. “Tell me about him. What’s his name?”

“Lance.”

“He totally is the pilot, isn’t he?”

“Shut up!”

Shiro laughs. Suddenly, his phone buzzes. From the way the smile drops off his face, Keith knows that duty calls. “Listen, Keith—”

“I get it. You have obligations. It’s fine, Shiro.”

“Hey, don’t think this is over. I need to meet this boy, properly, _without_ the moustache,” Shiro teases. “I do have to split right now, but we’re talking about this later, okay?”

“Okay.”

While Keith has no doubt Shiro wants to talk to him about it later, he knows they won’t find the time. 

_wat do u like on ur pizza_ (16:17)

Keith grins.

Lance has the best timing.

* * *

“You sure he isn’t out of your league?”

_“_ Pidge, he’s out of my _universe_!” Lance punctuates his point by tossing all his dirty laundry into his closet. “He’s so rich, you don’t even _understand_. He’s got a fucking Rolex. And he drives a Dugati 848 Superbike. _A fucking dugati 848_.”

“You’re such a mechanic nerd.”

“Like you’re not a science nerd?”

Lance frowns. His closet really reeks now. He can Febreeze the shit out of it later, if he can find the bottle? If not, he doubts he has the restraint to get Keith in his room and not do … _other things_. But he’s taking it slow dammit, regardless of how hot Keith is, Lance has _some_ self-restraint. He steps through all the littered comics and begins to stack them up. 

“Tell me how you got him to fuck you in this room again?” Pidge shakes their head. “It just seems like he has high standards.”

“Maybe he was drunk, I don’t know, he didn’t taste drunk—”

“TMI, Lance!”

“Oh my God, I wasn’t talking about that! I was talking about his saliva!” He wrinkles his nose. “You think I could taste it in his sperm?”

“Seriously TMI! I don’t have to know if you swallow!” 

Lance smirks. “Whatever. But he’s rich, I’m talking like, fill your gas _all the way_ rich, and then some.”

Pidge rolls their eyes. “You know, I’m starting to think you don’t really think of him as anything other than Zarkon Galra’s son. What’s so great about him?”

“He’s just so …” Lance searches for words and can’t find any. He stares at his stack of _Deadpool_ comics. He doesn’t have a shelf for them. He can’t just leave them lying on the floor. “He just … makes me feel good?”

“TM—”

“Not like that— well, _yeah_ , like that, but it’s not only that. It’s like, when I’m with him, my confidence that I’m always putting on? I actually _do_ feel confident, which is weird, because he _should_ make me feel inferior, but he doesn’t have this like, commanding presence that sucks out all the air in the room. 

“And it’s not even like, just that. It’s these things he does. It’s like … being with him wasn’t just like, good, it was _fun_. I laughed a lot. More than I usually ever do. You know— well, you don’t know, but it’s usually like you’re too caught up in the moment and you barely even like, really see the person you’re with but with him, I saw _him_. Like, I was so in the moment, but he was like, _everything_ and it wasn’t like the only thing I could focus on was his body, it was his mannerisms? And the way he tried to stand up, even though his pants were bunched up at his ankles and he fell over, and it’s just like …

“He’s not like those people who think they’re so _above_ you, he seems so … human. And it makes it weird, because he _is_ so rich, but he seemed totally content to just listen to me talk about _Pokémon_ conspiracy theories while doing weird-ass science shit and—” 

“Lance.”

Lance rubs his neck. “I know I sound stupid—”

“No, you don’t. You sound sweet. Which is gross as hell and it kind of makes me want to puke,” says Pidge. “But I get it. I guess? I mean, I’ve never really … you know I’m not like that, so I don’t really …” Pidge shrugs. “Just cause I don’t like, _get it_ , I still kind of get it? The way you’re talking, it’s like … it’s kind of what I feel for Matt, you know? Except like, with sex. Which, ew, but …”

“Thanks.”

They fall into silence as Lance continues to clean and Pidge sits on his bed, directing him when he misses a spot.

“Hey Pidge?”

“Hmm?”

“I know we joke about it and all, but do you think he actually likes me?”

“Lance—” 

“Because I think I really like him. Like, I don’t think I ever really liked anyone else before, it’s so _different_ with him, but I think it’s how I’m supposed to feel around someone I like and I was putting labels onto something it wasn’t with all the other people I was with …”

“You’re serious about him, aren’t you?”

Lance rubs his neck.

Pidge has their answer.

“Look, if you keep doubting yourself, you’re never going to get anywhere. I think he’d have to be crazy to stick around once you told him about Voltron and the whole D&D thing, but I mean … maybe that just means he really _does_ like you.”

“But what if he doesn’t?”

“But what if he _does_?”

“We could do this forever.” Lance shakes his head. “I just … I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“So don’t over think it. The only way you can screw it up is if you go in thinking you’re going to fuck up. Don’t do that, and you’ll probably be just fine.”

Lance gives them a small smile. “Thanks, Pidge.”

“You realize I’m probably going to make him a character in our next adventure, right?”

“We were having a moment right there, Pidge. And you know what? You just ruined it.”

“It’s what I do best!”

“But like seriously Pidge, you can't do that! What if he joins us for D&D night—”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m the DM, I get to control everything. You said his name was Keith, right?”

“PIDGE!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re offering to help me Bond-escape your apartment so I won’t have to deal with my social anxiety?”
> 
> “I mean, it’s not really fair of me to keep you here …”
> 
> “But blocking my entrance via perilous glass shards is totally fair game.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I earned the M rating now... Was not meant to be angsty at all, and then Keith happened in the opening, but otherwise, super fluffy. And can you catch my references?

_2016 altea st u kno the floor_ (17:23)

Keith is not excited. He’s not giddy at the prospect of hanging out with Lance, because that would be childish of him, wouldn’t it? And Keith is not a child. He’s fucking nineteen years old, dammit, and it’s not like this is a playdate or anything and he’s not going to act like this is the first time he’s been over to someone’s house, because it _isn’t_.

_It’s just the first time I’m going to the house of someone I like._

Keith is pretty sure he missed out on puberty. Or at least, the puberty that’s always described in those stupid teen books about how you’re supposed to feel terrible and have acne and hate the world but it’ll all be better because your family is there to support you no matter what you do and you’ll screw up and run away a few times but you’ll always come back home, knowing there’s a place for you.

Keith has never had a home. 

He’s never had a family before. 

He’s never had someone who looks after you when you fall and scrape your knee.

Keith’s done the running away thing numerous times. 

No one ever goes out looking for him. 

And he never goes back. 

Keith’s had his fair share of “world hating” years. If he’s being honest, he’s still in them.

There’s just so much in the world to hate.

He watches other people go through life with the occasional bump in the road whereas Keith feels like he’s always sinking in quicksand without a rope. 

Sadly, he’s gotten very used to it.

Being part of the Galra family does not make him family. That’s something he’s learnt the hard way over the years. It’s hard to try and fit in somewhere that you’re not wanted. 

But tonight isn’t about that. 

Tonight is about getting to know Lance better. He has to gather up his courage as he stands in front of the dirty, crumbling building. He remembers the night he had with Lance when he hadn’t even been paying attention to his surroundings, all his focus was on the Cuban and the way his hands were magic.

_“Would you have gone home with me if I had been driving this thing?”_

Keith hadn’t been lying. He would’ve.

He probably would’ve gone into Lance’s apartment even if he hadn’t been distracted. There was a kind of _rush_ he got when he was with Lance, and he’d chase it to the ends of the Earth.

_You can do this._

There are no security guards, it isn’t like the Galra offices. There’s no one to intimidate him in to leaving, no one but himself. Lance braved through it, and more just to fail to kidnap him. 

Keith can totally do this.

Keith presses his hand against the door. The metal is cold and it shocks his system.

Keith can’t do this.

Suddenly, his phone vibrates. He nearly falls down from surprise. Digging it out of his pocket, Keith sees Shiro’s name light up his screen.

He picks up.

“Hi—”

“Open the fucking door, you dork.”

Keith looks around himself. “Are you following me or something?”

Shiro laughs. It sounds a bit distorted through the phone, but it warms Keith all the same. “No, you’re just predictable.”

Keith huffs. “You make it sound like it’s so easy—”

“That’s because it _is_ easy,” says Shiro. Keith can sense him rolling his eyes across the line. “You’ve opened tons of doors before in your life. This one might get a bit jammed, because you know, old building or whatever, but you still gotta open it. Lance is waiting.”

“I should’ve never told you his name.”

“Too late to regret it now,” teases Shiro. “In all seriousness though, if you don’t want to go in, don’t go in. I’m not going to force you. Hell, I’m not even there to push your ass in there, which you know I would. 

“So if you don’t feel ready, if you don’t feel prepared, don’t go in. For Lance. Don’t go in there because you think you owe him something, or because you like him, or because you want to be with Lance, because you’re clearly so torn up about it and have no idea what to do with these feelings of yours. Lance isn’t your motivator right now. 

“But if you want that feeling, that feeling of freedom you keep going on about, and Lance is the reason you're hesitating? Fuck Lance. Chase down that feeling, don’t go after Lance, go after what he makes you _feel_.”

Keith pushes the door open.

“I’m in.”

“Atta boy! Listen, I have to go right now, but when you get back, you’re telling me all about Super Hot Cuban—”

“I should’ve never told you that either.”

“Let me give you some quick advice, alright? Don’t overthink it, Keith. You’re your worst enemy.”

With that, Shiro hangs up and Keith makes it all the way to Lance’s apartment door.

**Here.** (17:32)

* * *

_CRASH!_

“You are _such_ a dork.”

Lance gets up from the floor, (he can actually _see the floor!_ He did a damn good job cleaning, but he’s kind of sad there was nothing to catch his fall because _damn_ , the floor is hard!) and scurries to his feet. “He’s here!”

“And he didn’t just knock?”

“He’s special.”

“I’ll say.”

Lance tries to straighten out his shirt. 

He doesn’t have fancy clothes. Coming from a family like his, all of his outfits were hand-me-downs, or second-hand from thrift shops. All of his jeans have holes in them to the point where it’s actually less of a fashion statement and more of an inconvenience, because winters are cold and none of his clothes are thick enough. He’s wearing a NASA shirt, not because he wants to reminisce about Keith’s talk about the _X-Files_ , but because it’s the only semi-clean shirt he has, and he knows the jeans are a bit small on him, stopping just above his ankles, and his shirt is too big on him, which is why it’s weirdly half-tucked in, and he _was_ wearing matching socks, but they weirded him out too much so now he’s wearing a neon orange one that he’s rolled up all the way and one of Pidge’s ankle socks that have small hedgehogs on them (that aren’t even Sonic, the traitor).

“How do I look?”

“Like a lovesick idiot. Open the fucking door, before he thinks you’ve forgotten about him.”

He nearly trips on his way to the door, but Keith isn’t there to see it so it’s almost as if it didn’t happen.

He cracks the door open just a bit and sees Keith and—

_Hot damn._

The boy is wearing a cleanly pressed white dress-shirt, and his hair is perfect (when is it not?). He’s wearing black slacks and he’s got a fucking tie on, _a fucking tie,_ Christ— _Lance, think straight, now is not the time to think of wrapping it around— yeah no, best not go there_. He’s wearing dress shoes.

Lance feels underdressed, which is why he does the grown-up thing and stalls.

“What’s the password?”

“Password?”

Confusion is a great look on Keith.

“Uh …”

“Lance, let the poor guy in!” says Hunk.

“Not until he says the password!”

“We don’t have a fucking password, you doofus!” says Pidge. 

“Yeah, we do. I just made one up.”

Keith frowns. “I think that’s cheating.”

“No it’s not, I make the rules and I say it’s not cheating so ha!” Lance tries not to sweat buckets because Christ, that’d so _not_ be cool. He’s got this. Totally. “Okay, I’ll give you a clue. When I say Vol, you say …?”

“Voltron?”

“Close enough.”

Lance swings the door open and gestures grandly with his arms. “Welcome to my humble abode!”

Keith scoffs. “You’re so full of shit.”

“I like him already.”

“Shut up, Pidge.”

As Keith looks around, Lance hopes he got all the stains out of the couch because that’d be really bad, but at the same time, he can’t guarantee that the vacuum didn’t totally die on them from over-use. 

“I feel over-dressed.”

“You are,” says Pidge.

“Which is totally okay,” Lance jumps in quickly. “Who doesn’t like being showed up in their own home?”

Keith’s brow creases. “Should I go?”

“Are you kidding me? You just got here! Let me take your … shoes.” Why couldn’t he wear a fucking coat so this isn’t nearly as awkward as it feels? 

“My shoes?”

“… Yes?”

“You’re going to take my shoes,” Keith deadpans.

“I’m secretly a House Elf.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you again. While I take your shoes, you can meet Thing 1 and Thing 2 of the apartment.” He feels like if he touches Keith’s shoes, he’ll get them covered in grease and motor oil because he’s just realized he hasn’t showed since work. 

Shit, he should’ve showered.

“Uh, hi, I’m Keith.”

“We know.”

_Okay this is embarrassing. Time to distract._

“So Keith, how do you feel about _Army of Darkness_?” 

* * *

Keith feels out of place in Lance’s apartment. 

It’s cleaner than he remembers, but then again, he can actually _see_ this time around. 

There are two people sitting on the couch. One is a dark skinned boy with a bowl of popcorn in his hands, the other is a — _boy? Girl? Person?—_ wearing glasses, fiddling with the remote. 

“Lance, you know the VCR is crap, right? I can stream this online—”

“But the VCR makes it rustic!” he calls from somewhere in the apartment. Keith feels like his lifeline has disappeared and he’s just floundering. He’s hoping Lance gets his ass back in here soon. “Besides, you know we can’t trust the internet connection.”

Keith stands awkwardly. It somehow doesn’t feel right to touch the couch. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Part of him feels like he’s just walked into the lion’s den. If the lion’s den had a crappy VCR and a collection of way too many old fashion movies.

He doesn’t know what to do with his arms or his legs or his _whole being_ because when Lance said his roommates would be in, Keith hadn’t thought he’d _actually be meeting them_ and he’s only psyched himself enough to hang out with Lance so they’ve come out of left-field. 

“You know you can sit, right? The couch won’t eat you,” says the dark-skinned man. “I’m Hunk, by the way. I’m the one who drove Lance to your place when he showed up in the sombrero. I go to the Garrison too. Engineering program.”

Keith doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods.

“I’m Pidge,” says the person who Keith cannot place. “I’m the one whose science stuff you tripped over.”

“Did I break any of it?” Keith panics. “I’m really sorry about that.” 

“Oh yeah, you broke all of it. Including the project I was working on for my thesis, it’s been like, four years in the making and during your little fun times, you destroyed it. That’s a good portion of my life I won’t be getting back.”

_Shit._

Why is he always such a fuck up? He should’ve been more careful that night with Lance, regardless of how distracting his hands had been. Keith is supposed to be more responsible than that, for Christ’s sake. He’s been put in charge of a division of a giant-ass company (despite the fact that he’s sure Lotor has done it just to watch Keith fuck it up), he shouldn’t be knocking over thesis-based projects—

Pidge is laughing.

_Am I missing something?_

“I’m pulling your leg! You turned whiter than a sheet!”

Keith blinks. “Are you sure?”

“I already finished my thesis like, two months ago, you didn’t fuck up anything, relax,” Pidge assures, rolling their eyes. “You okay? You look a little sick.”

Keith nods, able to breathe again.

“Alright now that that’s cleared up, Hunk move out of the way, I’m gonna get this bad boy started!”

Keith feels out of place in Lance’s apartment, like he shouldn’t be here. Hunk is dressed casually in an too-large sweatshirt that swallows up his arms, and he’s wearing a pair of sweats that look well-washed. Pidge is dressed in a shirt that says MIT. Keith doesn’t like how over-dressed he is. 

He doesn’t feel comfortable at all and he wants to get out of here as quickly as possible, the feeling Lance gives him be damned because he’s so out of his element. 

His hand is on the knob when—

“Where are you going?”

“I uh …” Keith feels weird about being caught trying to sneak out of a completely fine, totally normal setting for no other reason than his awkwardness. “I just thought maybe I’m intruding? Maybe I should just go—”

_CRASH!_

Keith stares at the glass shards on the floor.

_Well, shit._

When he looks up, Lance is blocking his pathway with his arms spread out like an eagle, the contents of the platter he had been previously holding in pieces on the floor, along with the fractured pieces of the platter itself.

“Uh—”

“You can’t go!”

Keith blinks.

“I mean uh, it’s a disaster zone now! You can’t leave the building until like, you know, we clean up this mess. Which I don't plan on doing for a while so … yeah, you’re stuck here!”

“Great thinking Lance, prevent his only means of escape. That totally _won’t_ make him feel like a caged animal.”

“No one asked for your input, Pidge.” 

The half-Korean stares at the floor that’s become a prickly minefield. “You dropped everything.”

“I know.”

Keith frowns.

Lance sees this and immediately starts apologizing. “If you really don’t want to be here, I can make a ladder out of like, bedsheets. They’re kinda dirty, but you’ll need them since we’re pretty high up—”

“You’re offering to help me Bond-escape your apartment so I won’t have to deal with my social anxiety?”

“I mean, it’s not really fair of me to keep you here …”

“But blocking my entrance via perilous glass shards is totally fair game.” 

Lance chuckles sheepishly.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

Lance grins.

“Gross!” 

Lance throws a fallen gummy bear at Pidge. It hits the target perfectly.

“Well, the snacks are ruined … so I hope you like pizza. We’ve got a coupon. You don’t uh, have some rich guy diet that prevents you from eating greasy foods, do you?”

“I ate you, didn’t I?”

Keith likes the flustered look on Lance. It suits him.

“Oi, stop flirting!” interrupts Pidge, making the two of them stand at attention, frozen stiff like soldiers. “Lance, what did you do with this Goddamn tape? Did you touch the VCR while you were eating peanut butter again? You know what that does to the buttons! What if we can’t rewind?”

Lance and Keith make their way back to the living room, which is really just five steps away from the entrance because _damn_ this place is small. It doesn’t feel suffocating though, it just feels cozy. Keith loves it.

“But peanut butter sandwiches always taste better when I’m using the Force—”

“You have an unhealthy _Star Wars_ obsession, and I do not condone it,” says Pidge. “If we can’t get this thing working, then I say we skip it and go straight to the games.”

“No! I wanna show Keith _Chatterbox_.”

“That’s an abomination and you know it,” Pidge accuses. They turn to Keith. “Don’t ask—”

“What’s it about?”

“Too late,” Hunk says forlornly. 

“A talking vagina,” says Lance with a straight face.

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. You have to see it to believe it.”

“Spare his poor eyes, won’t you? I thought you wanted this guy to be your friend, don’t go scarring him!”

Lance shakes his head and drops to his knees in front of the VCR. “Nope, he’s gotta see it.”

“I really don’t have to.”

“Nope, the Bond-escape ladder offer has been redacted and I’ve hidden your shoes.” Lance sits on his knees and licks his lip. The Cuban looks determined as he sets his gaze on the VCR, cracking his knuckles.

“Why are you tilting your head like that?”

“Wanted to see if I could crack my neck too, make it super dramatic.”

“You see what we have to live with?” Pidge demands, gesturing to Lance.

Keith grins. Lance is such a _weirdo_.

While Lance fiddles with the VCR in a completely different world, Hunk and Pidge turn to Keith.

“So,” says Hunk, “You’re Zarkon Galra’s son?”

Keith feels his stomach drop. Lance is in no place to save him while he battles with the VCR, so this is a battle Keith will have to fight on his own. He doesn’t want all the questions about Zarkon (he _cannot_ call that man his dad), and he really hates that when people see him, they always see him as Zarkon’s son. He almost preferred when no one ever saw him as anything at all.

“Yeah …”

“Cool … now Keith, tell me the truth,” says Hunk, leaning closer than Keith feels comfortable. “Is Galra Tech secretly planning on brainwashing all of the country with their newest product?”

Keith blinks. “W-what?”

“Oh come on, you know that’s not what they’re doing,” Pidge says, rolling their eyes. “It’s so obvious that they want to conquer space, why would they stop at a small planet like Earth? That’s aiming too low. More importantly, do you own a plane?”

“I uh …” 

Keith doesn’t own a plane. Zarkon owns a plane. Keith technically owns the plane by association, but if anyone is allowed to pilot it, it’s not him. It’s technically Lotor’s. He doesn’t want to think about Lotor, so he doesn’t say anything.

Lance jumps onto the couch, making the whole thing shake. Some of the popcorn in Hunk’s bowl falls out. “Alright, we’re all set up! Are you ready for some crazy shit?”

“Should I brace myself?”

“A piece of advice when dealing with Lance McClain,” interjects Pidge, “ _always_ brace yourself.”

Lance hushes Pidge and the movie begins.

It takes Keith about two minutes to realize it is _painful_ for the blue-eyed teen to keep quiet during a movie when he starts doing a dramatic remix of the opening logo’s music.

He gets really excited easily and starts commentating, and soon he’s mouthing the words along and then he’s bursting out into actual dialogue that’s delivered better than the film itself. He steps up onto the coffee table during the boomstick scene and then he doesn’t sit back down, much to Hunk and Pidge’s annoyance.

When the movie is over, Lance jumps off the rickety table and puts his hands on his hips.

“Next up is _Chatterbox_!”

Pidge and Hunk groan in unison.

“It can’t be _that_ bad,” Keith says.

“It’s about a talking vagina. It’s _very_ bad,” Hunk assures. “Save yourself before he puts in it. Save _us_!”

“I’m desensitized at this point,” says Pidge with a shrug. 

Keith frowns. “What kind of childhood did you have that you think a talking vagina is okay?”

“When you live with as many siblings as I did, talking genitals is the least traumatizing thing I’ve witnessed.”

Keith doubts it.

“What about _The Princess Bride_?”

“But that’s an awesome movie.”

“So why not watch it?”

“Because, it’s like … too awesome.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. 

“Lance likes shitty movies,” Hunk supplies.

“ _Army of Darkness_ is a work of art, and I will fight anyone who says otherwise!”

“Listen, you said he hasn’t played many video games,” says Pidge, sitting up straighter on the couch. “Why don’t we introduce you to a few?” They have an evil gleam in their eye and Keith doesn’t trust Pidge as far as he can throw them. Which, he realizes, is pretty far since he’s pretty sure Pidge is like, the same weight as a feather. The point is, Pidge does _not_ look trustworthy when they give him that look.

“You know I hate your games!” says Lance. “There’s no reason to scar him with _Outlast_ —”

“But it’s _totally fine_ if we traumatize him using a vagina that knocks people’s egos down by critiquing their style in bed. Because _that_ makes sense, what was I thinking?”

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated here.”

“You love me and my sarcasm.”

The two of them turn to Keith expectantly, like he’s going to come up with the right answer about what they should do. As if Keith has any idea what’s been happening at all since the night has begun.

“I’ve uh … heard _Mario Kart_ is good.”

Pidge and Lance are wearing identical looks of shock. Lance wears it better (Keith isn’t biased, shut up). 

_“You’ve never played Mario Kart?”_

“I uh … no?”

Pidge crosses their arms firmly and sticks their chin up in the air. “I can’t approve of this … this _barbarian_ , Lance. He has not lived, not truly. I can’t believe you _slept with him_! You have sinned, you insolent fool!”

Keith takes a step back and nearly trips on the couch as Pidge jumps up and changes the TV’s input, thumbing through the many video game disks. 

“Are they always like this?”

“When it comes to Pidge?” Hunk nods. 

“Dude, you can’t just _not_ tell the guy you sleep with that you haven’t played Mario Kart,” says Lance. “I feel like I’ve committed a _crime_. You're a fucking virgin!”

“Well, I _was_ —”

“Now is not the time for jokes!”

_But it wasn’t a joke._

“We have to fix this. Immediately. Pidge, is it set up yet?”

Lance’s hands are still somewhat gentle as they force him onto the couch. He throws a control at Keith, who fumbles with it.

“You can’t break that, it’s a miracle we even have a working system,” Lance warns. He takes a seat next to him and the couch groans under their weight.

“So we’re playing Mario Kart? Thanks for consulting me.”

“You love Mario Kart, Hunk, stop complaining.”

“It still would’ve been nice of you to _ask me_ , seeing as this apartment is still 33% mine.”

“I’ll let you get first pick on your character.”

“Done.”

The TV starts up and a high-pitched voice says “ _Mario Kart 8!”_

Keith frowns. “Is this racist?”

“He’s an Italian plumber turned saviour of the Mushroom Kingdom, and he’s the face of Nintendo. I think it’s okay,” Lance says with a shrug. “Anyway, we’ll put you on the most basic track, Mario Kart Circuit. Babies can play that one, and we’ll even put you on 50 CC. It’s depressing how slow you’re going to be moving …” 

“But I don’t—”

“Okay, let’s go!”

Like everything Keith has come to do with Lance, it’s fast paced and suddenly each menu screen is flashing by him as Lance hands a remote over to Hunk. 

“Choose wisely.”

“Why do I feel like I’m going to war?”

“Because you are,” says Pidge, taking a seat on the armrest of the couch. Their tiny body somehow fits on it perfectly. “I can’t believe we’re going 50 CC, Lance. You’re so whipped.”

“Am not!”

Keith catches a side-view of the Cuban. He’s blushing.

“I mean, I get putting him on Mario Circuit, that’s just so he won’t suck, but that doesn’t mean _we_ have to suck too! What if we put him in Sunshine Airport? That’s not _that_ bad.”

“Pidge, he’s never played before. It’s already stretching it to put him in the Flower Cup.”

“The what cup?”

“The Flower Cup,” says Lance with a roll of his eyes as if saying “duh”. “You know, the second cup in the game?”

Keith blinks.

“You really _are_ clueless, aren’t you?”

Lance chuckles and ruffles his hair. Keith has to force himself not to follow his hand. “Time to choose your player and kart, Mullet Boy.”

Keith frowns. “Wait. How can … baby Peach and Princess Peach? Doesn’t that cross universes? Or timelines? Or like … dimensions?”

Lance grins. “You’re such a _dork_.”

Keith chooses (Toad because he looks cute and small and Lance laughs at him the whole time, especially when he chooses a kart that resembles Toad as well) and then they’re on the course and a timer is counting down.

“Three laps, let’s go!” Lance says, mimicking Mario.

“Okay, now I _know_ that’s racist.”

“Schematics, I’d be more focused on me grinding you into dust!”

Keith has no fucking clue what to do, but the timer has started so he starts jamming at buttons. He runs his kart directly into a side wall, and Lance laughs at him while Pidge curses him for putting them on 50 CC, not that anyone is explaining to Keith what the fuck that means.

Keith takes a moment to gather his bearings and he’s pretty sure Hunk’s just passed him, but he keeps going, backs up (he hopes he never has to do it again because he’s not sure how he did it the first time), and then he’s back on the course. 

Suddenly, black ink covers his screen.

“That’s cheating!”

“Is not!” chuckles Pidge, and then from his peripheral, Keith sees their kart wiz pass him.

“That _has_ to be cheating.”

“All’s fair in war and Mario Kart,” declares Lance.  

Keith frowns. “Isn’t it supposed to be love and war?”

“There is no love in Mario Kart, EAT MY DUST!”

Just as Keith’s screen clears up, he’s spun backwards and now there’s an annoying floating thing telling him he’s going the wrong way. “I know that!” he snaps. By the time he’s readjusted himself, he’s so far behind everyone. There are no more distractions. 

Everyone else is on their second lap around when Keith finally makes it to the finish line. As he races forward, he feels like he’s got a better grip on it now, he actually knows what the course is like, so he weaves and dodges fairly easily. When he runs into a multi-coloured block he had missed the first time around, he gets confused.

“The fuck is that for?”

“It’s a thing. Like, a prop.”

“For what?”

“It’s to hit other people.”

“You mean to cheat?”

“To … distract,” Lance offers.

And then Keith passes another person’s kart and the number in the corner of his screen says he’s in 7th place. He passes all of the computers that are playing fairly easily. It’s a little confusing, because he can’t tell which screen is his sometimes so he decides to focus solely on his box of the screen and ignore everyone else.

He’s figured out the controls by the time he’s half-way through his second lap.

“This is a safety hazard,” says Keith as he dodges another attack at him.

“It’s all in good fun,” says Lance as he avoids a banana peel from Pidge.

“What if some poor kid actually thinks this is how to drive?” Keith thinks back to the way Lance drives. “Lance … tell me you didn’t study for your practical licence test using _Mario Kart_ of all things.”

Lance doesn’t answer him.

_That explains a lot._

Keith hits the wrong button and suddenly, there are turtle shells all around him.

“Aw man! How’d you get that?” demands Hunk, who tries to throw something at Keith, but it knocks one of the shells away and now Keith has three left.

The next time he goes through a colourful cube, it’s a golden star and _holy shit that’s faster than he thought_ and then he’s over the finish line.

The race’s results appear on the screen and then Pidge is nudging him in the shoulder and grinning.

“The King has been overthrown, and by a rookie no less!”

Keith stares.

Sure enough, Toad is in first place.

“Beginner’s luck.”

“You’re just salty.”

“I’m _always_ salty.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Pidge groans. “That was almost cute. _Almost_. But now I’ve basically thrown up in my mouth. I _was_ going to approve of him for whipping your sorry ass, but like, now he went and did _that_ and I don't know if I can unsee that.”

“Shut up, Pidgey.”

They grit their teeth. “What have I told you about calling me Pidgey?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “They’re just bitter because they have the name of a Pokémon and not a champion.”

Pidge sighs, exasperated. “This again?”

“He’s a _dragon Pokémon trainer!_ ” Lance says, his eyes sparkling. “You’re just jealous!”

“Oh, absolutely, I’m just teeming.”

“Whatever, I want a rematch. And I’m not going to go easy on you, just because you’re a newbie.”

“A newbie who beat you.”

“ _Thank you_ , Hunk, for that.”

They play a few more tracks. Keith doesn’t win all of them, but he consistently keeps coming up several places ahead of Lance.

“It’s rigged. The game is rigged. That’s all there is to it.”

“You’re just bitter.”

“Am not.”

“You totally are.”

“It’s the CC, it’s too fucking slow.”

“Sure.”

Hunk’s stomach growls loudly and the man blushes. “I uh, guess I’ll go get the coupon for the pizza, huh?”

“It’s about time,” whines Pidge. “These two idiots have no concept of time at all, we should’ve eaten _hours ago_. It’s like they’re not even _human_ and don’t know when their bodies need food.”

Keith bites his lip. “Sorry.”

Pidge turns to him, the light reflecting off their glasses. “For what?”

“For … um, not functioning like the standard human being?”

They frown. “Do you even know why you’re apologizing?”

“I … it felt like the right thing to do?”

Pidge wrinkles their nose. “Don’t apologize for no reason.”

“But you said—”

“I’m dramatic, you have to be to live with Lance. Trust me, you’ll know when you actually _do_ fuck up. Until then, I don’t wanna hear that word out of your mouth.”

“Aye.”

Pidge grins. “I like him.”

Lance lays himself out on the couch, stretching his too-long limbs, nearly hitting Keith in the face with his legs. “So what do you want on the pizza? Heads up, the coupon is only valid for like, 2 toppings, and because you’re the guest of honour, you only get to choose one of them. It’s not going to be my fault if Hunk decides to try anchovies or something else that’s weird as fuck.”

“I uh, I kinda wouldn’t mind pineapples.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I retract my statement about liking him,” says Pidge.

“You’re one of _those_ people.” Lance wrinkles his nose.

“I’m what?”

“The type who, for some reason, think pineapple should be on pizza. The very _wrong_ people who like pineapples on their pizza.” 

“Lance, how could you do this? It’s a travesty. First, you sleep with someone who has never played Mario Kart, now he likes pineapples on pizza. _And_ he has a fucking mullet. I was going to let that slide, but it’s almost like you’re dating a hotter, younger, Asian version of Billy Ray Cyrus.”

“So, basically not like Billy Ray Cyrus at all?” Hunk pipes in.

“Not the point!” Pidge waves him off. “Point is, you slept with a heretic.”

“Are you going to burn me at the stake?”

“Nah, the stake is too good for you,” says Pidge.

“Right. We’ll just make him watch _Chatterbox._ ”

“On second thought, let’s burn him.”

Hunk comes back in with a coupon in hand. “So, what are we having on the pizza?”

Lance sighs, exasperated. “Hunk, I found another freak of nature for you. Keith likes pineapples on his pizza.”

“Sweet!” Hunk grins. “Don’t let them psyche you out, they just don’t appreciate flavour.”

Keith’s head is spinning. Everything seems so _unreal_. Here he is, sitting in a messy apartment with Lance and his roommates, and Keith has never felt more comfortable in all his years on Earth. He feels _at home_.

“I want pepperoni,” says Pidge.

“But I want chilli peppers!”

Hunk sighs. “You know there’s only one way to solve this, right?”

Lance turns to Pidge. “It’s so on.”

Keith frowns as Hunk is clearing off the dirty coffee table, making sure everything that may be broken is stacked into a rather dangerously leaning pile near the TV. Lance and Pidge sit across from each other on their knees on opposite ends of the table.

“Try not to break anything this time,” warns Hunk.

“That was _one time_.”

“One time is one time too many.”

Keith sits on the couch, pulling his knees to his chest as he watches in amusement. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what’s happening, but he’s learnt to just roll with the punches as they come and his skin is on fire with excitement. 

“On the count of three,” says Hunk and Pidge and Lance clutch each other’s hands in a vice-tight grip. “One. Two. Three!” Hunk shoves two fingers in his mouth and whistles.

Lance and Pidge start to arm wrestle. 

Lance is really into it, with sweat beating down his forehead.

“You ready to admit defeat?”

“Never.”

Pidge smirks. “Hey Keith, whose team are you on?”

Keith chokes. “M-me?”

“C’mon, cheer for me and I’ll suck your dick later—”

“TMI, LANCE!”

Lance winks at him and Keith can’t make words work. 

_SLAM!_

“HA! Victory!”

Lance whines and sends a playful glare in Keith’s direction. “That totally wasn’t fair, I was distracted.”

“You thought I was going to go easy on you just because Lover Boy’s here?” Pidge laughs. “He has to see you as you are, in all your pathetic sore-loser glory!”

“I want a rematch.”

“Too bad, it’s in the rules you made yourself,” says Hunk. He takes out his phone. “All disputes must be solved via competition. For control over the remote, rock/paper/scissors. For chores of the week, thumb wars. For pizza toppings, arm wrestling matches. No best 2 out of 3, and no redos, must always be an all-or-nothing event. The loser can suck it. No exceptions,” he reads off. 

Lance pouts. “No blowjob for you.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Didn’t do anything?” Lance echoes. “Oh yeah, I’d call sitting there in your fancy, sexy-ass tie doing nothing but being distracting!”

“Don’t blame Keith for your carnal instincts,” Pidge snaps. “I might start to think of him as a victim. Now, take it like a man. We’re getting pineapple and pepperoni pizza.”

Keith never wants to leave.

* * *

It’s when the pizza delivery man appears in the middle of _Chatterbox_ , (shut up Pidge, it’s got a wonderful story), that Lance remembers the glass.

He puts on his shoes to walk around it and opens the door. The pizza delivery man looks at Lance, then at the mess. The Cuban gets the distinct impression the guy is judging him.

“You sell pizzas for a living, shut up,” he says, before taking the pizza and slamming the door close.

“Pizza is served!” he declares, walking in with the box. “Also, dibs on the tabletop thingy!”

“The tabletop thingy?” Keith looks the cutest when he’s confused.

“He means that thing they use to stop the cheese from sticking to the lid of the box,” Pidge explains. “He’s got a thing for collecting weird things. I think he’s on his way to hoarder-dom.”

“I’m already a dom,” says Lance with a wink.

_Ah, there’s that pretty blush._

“You’re insufferable,” says Pidge, snatching the box away from him. They throw the small piece of plastic at Lance, who catches it skillfully.

“But you gotta love me.”

“Do I? Do I _really_?”

Lance takes his seat, ignoring Pidge’s words and presses play.

“OH!”

Everyone on the couch jumps a foot in the air from Lance’s sudden outcry. “Sauce! I have to get the sauce!”

As he gets the sauce, he gives himself time to acknowledge that this little get together is probably one of the most low-profile things Keith has ever been to. He’s wearing an outfit that must cost several thousand dollars and the meal is probably one of the worst he’s ever been served, but he’ll make do with what he can. He’s never apologized for being broke before, and Keith is still here so he won't be starting any time soon. He gets the Sriracha and squeezes himself between Hunk and Keith, leaning back in the couch. He may like Keith, but not enough to give him his spot on the couch because it’s taken _years_ to get it to mould into the perfect shape for his butt. 

Glancing at Keith as he watches the movie, Lance can’t read his expression. It’s somewhere between amused and very disturbed.

As the night wore on, Keith had started to roll up his sleeves and his hair had been tousled enough by Hunk and Pidge that it’s sticking up in all angles. He’s distracting as fuck, and it’s not Lance’s fault Keith makes business wear look hotter than nudity. 

“Lance?”

Lance jumps. He’s totally been caught. “Yeah?”

“You’re uh … you’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

Lance’s lines are really shitty. They’re so stereotypical and cliché, but somehow they get a good reaction out of Keith, so as long as that keeps happening, he’ll keep using them. 

“Can you guys stop eye-fucking each other? It’s almost as bad as the movie!”

Lance spins around and glares at Pidge. They have no shame.

When he turns back to Keith, Keith is fussing over his tie.

“Shit, did I get sauce on it?”

“Kind of …”

Pidge cackles. “That’s Lance for you, he’s one smooth operator.”

Keith’s tie is in a terrible knot. Lance doubts most businessmen wear their knots that shittily, but at the same time, what should he expect of a nineteen year old boy in an Armani suit? It slides out easily and Keith is standing up and _no, you can’t leave yet—_

“Do you want me to help you get it out?”

“If you leave the couch, we’re turning this trash off,” says Pidge.

“It’s nothing,” says Keith. “Just a tie. It’s uh, it was bugging me anyway.”

Hunk frowns. “That tie looks expensive though.”

Keith shrugs. “Only $800.”

“ONLY $800?”

Lance drags Keith by his arm into the kitchen and takes the tie from him. “Let me get it out for you.”

“It’s no problem, I insist—”

“No, _I_ insist,” Lance cuts him off. He turns on the water, and it’s freezing cold. It’s been a while since he’s been home and had to clean the stains out of Maria’s dresses, so he’s a bit rusty, but he should be able to get it out. Sriracha may be the worst thing he’s ever tried to get out though, and he’s had to wash blood out of Javier’s jeans when he got into a fight with Fernando. 

Lance is pretty sure he’s making it worse.

“It’s fine, really—”

“You, you can just shut up, you’re too docile.”

“That’s not what you said the other night …”

Lance nearly chokes. 

He’s going to kiss him at this rate, and that’s _not_ the plan. Because Lance kind of wants _more_ than just a one-night stand with Keith, and he knows it’s a lot to hope for considering he’s the boy whose best sneakers have well-worn soles because he can’t always afford a bus pass, and Keith probably lives in a luxury home with a penthouse and a pool and five bowling alleys or something like that. He has to make Keith like him, for who he is, to see him as more than his dick if he wants a shot with him. 

But shit, Keith makes it so hard when he looks at him like that.

“Uh, Lance?”

“Hmm?”

“The tie?”

Lance looks down to find that, as his train of thought escaped him and the urge to kiss Keith grew, he had clenched his fist. So now, not only is the tie stained, and damp, it needs ironing. Lance sucks at ironing. 

_Yeah no, the tie is so not surviving this._

“I uh …”

Keith laughs.

He tosses his head back and he snorts a little as he does, holding his stomach and Lance blinks, dumbfounded. He doesn’t know what to say. What _can_ he say? Especially when Keith looks so beautiful like that, with his hair mess, his top two buttons undone, exposing his chest, and his eyes crinkling with laughter.

_Your hands are soapy, do not fucking touch him with your gross dirty, soapy hands!_

So Lance does the next best thing. He flicks the soap from his fingers at Keith.

“You didn’t!”

“But I did.”

It’s an all-out war, with Keith grabbing the sink’s nozzle to directly spray at him and Lance is ducking, but it’s not really working and their laughing and he feels lightheaded and so fucking _perfect_ , he wants to capture this moment forever in one of those Harry Potter memory trapping things and he wonders how he found someone as perfectly flawed as Keith.

It’s when his back hits the ground and Keith is on top of him, breathing heavily, sponge aimed at his face that Lance comes back to his senses and lives in the moment. The water looks like crystals on Keith’s long lashes and his eyes are free of all worry. Lance has only ever seen him this open and unguarded when they had sex. 

Despite their situation, there’s nothing sexual running through Lance’s mind.

It just feels _right_ to be like this, underneath Keith, as the half-Korean laughs at him. 

Lance reaches up and takes Keith’s arm in his hand. “You get soap in my eye, and then I’ll _really_ get mad,” he teases.

“I’d like to see you _try_ and beat me in a serious fight,” Keith laughs. 

“Are you some kind of _Karate Kid_ prodigy or something?” 

“I’m a black belt.”

_Well, so much for innocent thoughts._

“Oh yeah? Maybe you could teach me some time.”

“And what would I get in exchange?”

“I can teach you the samba, and,” here, Lance pushes himself into a semi-sitting position using his elbows as leverage, “I’m _really_ good at the tango.”

“That would explain your flexibility,” Keith muses.

Screw taking it slow. Lance _needs_ to kiss him, or else he’s pretty sure he’s going to die—

“Shit, is that the time?”

Lance frowns as Keith’s eyes widen, staring at Lance’s wristwatch. “Fuck, I am _so_ dead.”

Lance checks the digital numbers. “ _Holy shit_ , is it really one?”

Keith sits up straight and takes out his phone, his face turning a shade of white. “Shit, Shiro …” He scrambles off of Lance and high-tails it to the vestibule. Lance follows him, scurrying to his feet.

“Hey, what’s the rush?”

“Zarkon’s going to kill me, Lotor’s going to kill me,” says Keith, more to himself than anyone else. He rips the closet open. “Where’d you put my shoes?”

“They’re in the corner— hey, hold on, is the world ending?”

Keith leans against the wall and begins to put on his shoes. “Shit, I think I stepped in the glass …”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Lance’s eyes widen at the red staining Keith’s sock. “You’re _bleeding_! Do you need to pull a Cinderella right now? Let Hunk look at you, I know First Aid—”

“I don’t have time for that!” Keith says. “Look, I had a really good time, but if Lotor finds out that I’m still gone, he’s going to detonate an island.”

“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration—”

“Lotor owns islands. He _will_ blow one up, just because he can, and he’ll blame it on me,” Keith says, deadly serious. “Your taste in movies is fucking weird as hell, but the pizza was great, and your roommates are great, and I’d love to do this again some time, but I really need to go—”

“I’ll drive you,” says Lance quickly, trying to find some way to extend his time with Keith.

“No, that’s a bad idea. I came on my bike, if it’s missing when Zarkon goes to the garage, he’s going to _flip_.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, really sorry I have to rush out like this, but we’ll hang some other time, okay? Minus the talking genitals, alright?”

“Sure.”

Lance feels numb.

He knows it’s not his fault. Keith clearly enjoyed the night, and his voice is laced with apologies. He wants to stay. He _knows that_. But at the same time, just when Lance was starting to forget about the divide between them, duty calls and pulls Keith from him.

“Right.”

Keith gives Lance a quick kiss on the cheek and then he’s out the door, Lance standing dumbstruck with Keith’s ruined tie in his fist.

* * *

_You fucking kissed him. I can’t believe you fucking kissed him!_

But Keith doesn’t have time to think about that, because he’s breaking speed limits with how fast he’s going down the streets. He’s done more than kiss Lance before, but this feels different. 

There’s adrenaline running through him that has nothing to do with the threat of Lotor, and Keith just _knows_ if he hadn’t mentioned the time, he’d still be on Lance’s kitchen floor, probably making out with him, potentially getting that blowjob.

When Keith opens the door to the house, Shiro is there waiting for him.

“Where have you been?” There’s no hint of annoyance, only concern in his voice.

“I lost track of time.”

“Obviously, you have to hurry or else—”

“Is that Keith?”

_Shit._

Keith breathes in deeply, shutting his eyes tightly. “Yes, Zarkon?”

Zarkon Galra makes his entrance, standing at the top of the staircase, far and distant as always. His features are set in a permanent scowl and tonight is no different. “Welcome back,” says the billionaire through tight lips.

Keith has never felt less welcomed.

There’s silence.

Keith knows better than to talk before being spoken to.

“Where were you?”

“Out.”

“I can see that.”

Keith resists the urge to look away.

“It’s past your curfew.”

_I’m fucking nineteen, I’m an adult, I shouldn’t have a Goddamn curfew._

“I know.”

Zarkon purses his lips. “Get to bed. We will talk about this in the morning.”

Before Keith can pass Zarkon on the stairs, the businessman holds out an arm to stop him.

Keith stops.

Zarkon pulls his hand back, rubbing his fingers together. “You are wet.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Passing car splashed me,” Keith lies.

“And I suppose that passing car also took your tie?”

_Shit._

“You smell like oil. Wash it off.”

“Yes.”

Zarkon raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, sir,” Keith corrects.

The Galra juts out his chin and Keith knows it’s the end of the conversation.

* * *

Keith closes the door to his bedroom quietly, locking it.

When he gets out of his shower from the joint-bathroom, his phone is on the floor. As he bends down to pick it up, he sees a flood of text messages. The vibrate had probably made the phone fall.

_u in trouble_ (1:13)

_keith_ (1:50)

_sorry_ (1:50)

_ill watch the clock nxt time_ (1:52)

_if there is a nxt time_ (1:52)

_@ least cinder left a fucking shoe_ (1:53)

_ill buy u a new tie_ (1:55)

_thats a lie_ (1:55)

_i cant afford it_ (1:55)

_ill make u a rubber band ball_ (1:56)

_thats lame_ (1:56)

_ill give u my yugioh cards_ (1:56)

_theyre collectors edition_ (1:56)

_scratch that_ (1:57)

_those cards r the result of YEARS of x-mas_ _presents_ (1:58)

_pidgey tells me im grovelling wrong_ (2:04)

_so i guess u can have them_ (2:04)

_if i can find them_ (2:04)

Keith’s grinning like an idiot. He puts on a pair of sleep-ware pants (they don’t feel comfortable, not after seeing Hunk in those sweats), and puts his towel around his neck. 

**You collect Yu-Gi-Oh cards?** (2:10)

_ur not dead_ (2:10)

_& i collectED_ (2:10)

_i am much 2 kool 4 yugioh now_ (2:10)

**Anyone who spells “cool” the way you just did is compensating for something** (2:11)

Lance sends him a picture and Keith’s mouth turns into the Sahara.

It’s Lance, lying in his bed, but he’s not wearing a shirt. It was dark that first time and Keith had _felt_ his muscles underneath his hands, but now he can _see them_ and he’s starting to get uncomfortable. Fancy sleep-ware does not handle boners well. 

_u b the judge_ (2:13)

_am i compensating_ (2:13)

Keith’s fingers tremble as they hover over the keyboard when his phone rings.

He picks up quickly.

“H-hello?”

“Did I get you flustered?”

Lance.

“How did this go from you trying to apologize to sexting me?”

Lance laughs. It’s breathy. _Too_ breathy.

“Are you… shit, are you _touching yourself_?”

Lance gasps and Keith has his answer. “S’your fault,” he moans. “You’re too sexy.”

Keith looks very much like a firetruck now.

“D-don’t blame your hormones on me!”

“Aw, are you blushing?” Lance’s breath hitches and Keith really wishes he was there, to watch him, to see it. 

Keith has never understood the appeal of porn. He doesn’t masturbate often either, partially because he’s terrified Zarkon or Lotor will catch him, but mostly because he’s never felt want or desire so strong that a cold shower can’t fix it. 

“Wanna know what I’m doing?” 

It’s like Lance is right next to him, whispering in his ear. 

Keith shivers.

He’s going to regret this.

“Tell me.”

“You know your tie? I have it. It’s wrapped around my wrist.” 

“A little tame for you, isn’t it?”

“Without you here to tie me up, I had to make do,” Lance says and Keith has never been more turned on. “I’m stroking myself with one hand— _hah_ … fuck …”

“And … and the other?”

“Where do you think it is?”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly.”

Lance moans. “Wish you were here … I really want to suck you off …” His breathing quickens. “Keith, my fingers … they’re not enough … shit, you’re so much better. So much thicker … so much _bigger_.”

Keith swallows.

His door is locked.

With trembling hands, he lies down on his bed and plays with the drawstrings of his pants. He’s so hot, _too_ hot, his clothes feel heavy on him, they’re suffocating him. His skin is on fire and his mind is cloudy. 

“Are you hard?”

“Yes.”

Shit, he didn’t know he could sound like that.

“Touch yourself.”

Keith’s hand slips beneath his clothes and the dampness on his skin isn’t from the shower. He can still smell Lance on him, despite the shower. The oil and the cheap deodorant and the spices. “Lance …”

“Yeah, baby?”

Keith laughs. “Baby? Is calling me a newborn child arousing to you? Because if it is, we have some things we should probably discuss.”

“Shush, you’re ruining the mood,” says Lance, giggling back.

“You ruined it first. Baby? What were you even thinking?”

“I should be totally turned off by the fact that you’re so fucking nerdy, but I think I just got harder.”

“You wanna see a doctor about that?”

“You’re terrible at this.” Lance’s breath hitches. “Seriously. How unsexy can you get? I bet all the other people you’ve been with have had to think of Beyoncé to get it back up.”

“Beyoncé? Really, Lance?”

Lance gasps. “Shit, I’m … keep saying my name …”

“Bit conceited of you, don’t you think?”

“Shut the fuck up, Keith.”

“Do you want me to say your name or do you want me to shut up? I can’t do both, _chico_.”

Lance suddenly goes really quiet.

Keith freezes.

“Lance? You still there?”

“Fucking _warn me next time_.”

Ah yes. Keith forgot, Lance gets really quiet when he finally does cum.

“ _Coño cabron,_ Keith. Don’t just fucking say shit out of nowhere!” The Cuban’s breathing harshly. Keith can hear him swallow. 

“Did I say it wrong?”

“That’s not the problem,” Lance says and he sounds muffled.

“Are you covering your face?”

There’s a muffled sound.

“Why’re you doing that?”

“Because I find it embarrassing that I just came like a fucking teenager from one word of Spanish from you!”

Keith roll his eyes. “You _are_ a teenager.”

Lance chuckles. It’s clearer now, he must’ve taken away his arm or whatever was blocking his mouth. “All the same, give a guy a warning, why don’t you? It fucks me up when you say shit like that, _¡hijo de puta!”_

“I have no fucking clue what you just said.”

Lance laughs. “I guess you don’t, do you? _Me gusta mucho, pero, me vuelves loco. Te deseo. Quiero besar._ ” 

It feels like each syllable is tickling his spine, making him shiver. “How the _fuck_ do you do that?” 

“Do what?” asks Lance innocently.

“Your voice … it oozes sex.”

“Practice?”

There’s a sound form the other end of the line and then Lance yells something back. “Sorry, Pidgey’s telling me to get my ass off the phone. They have an early class tomorrow. Anyway, I gotta take you out, don’t I? Or else I can’t make it up to you about that tie.”

“I don’t care about the tie.”

“You sure? Because I was thinking we could use it … _together_.”

“Lance.”

“Hmm, _guapo_?”

“It’s late. Get off the fucking phone.”

“You’re no fun.”

“You’re pouting.”

“Am not.”

“You so are.”

“You’re not even here, how can you tell if I’m pouting?”

“It’s in your inflection.” 

“But Keeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiith…”

“Are you always this needy after you orgasm?”

“I am _not_ needy.”

Pidge’s voice breaks through the phone, “STOP FLIRTING AND GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’m going to hang up now, okay, Lance?”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m four?”

“Because you’re acting like you are.”

“Would a four year old be able to take you as deep as I did?”

“Lance. Go to _sleep_.”

“But—”

“Either you hang up, or _I_ will.”

The line goes dead.

_pidgey betrayed me_ (2:54)

**“Pidgey” is right. You should go to sleep.** (2:54)

_fine_ (2:54)

_ur prononciation was shit_ (2:54)

_ill go 2 bed_ (2:54)

_but first_ (2:54)

Keith waits.

It takes a few minutes but then there’s another photo.

It’s of Lance fro the waist down. The photo shows his softening member, and his cum-splattered chest.

_sth 2 help u_ (2:57)

Lance is going to be the death of him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Should’ve thought of that _before_ he seduced me with his bottle flipping skills.”
> 
> Lotor frowns. “Bottle flipping?”
> 
> “It’s an art form, and he’s mastered it. It’s quite attractive when a man can bottle flip perfectly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Keith got sad on you guys and Lance's monologue ran away from me. There's a lot of monologue because originally it was narration, but I annexed it cause it's less fun that way.

“Careful … careful … CAREFUL!”

_CRASH!_

“Great job, you fucked it up!”

Pidge turns to the Cuban, glaring sharply. “Maybe I wouldn’t have fucked it up if you weren’t SCREAMING IN MY EAR TO BE CAREFUL!”

Keith grins. “That’s one point to me and Hunk.”

“That gives us a … what, five lead?” The engineering student grins, and puts another tally mark on the whiteboard. “Hey, don’t look so sour, Bud, you’re the one who decided teams had to be picked by drawing straws. _And_ you chose the game.”

“Jenga was supposed to be easy!” Lance whines.

“It _is_ easy. It’s literally a balancing game. If you know the basic structure of the blocks, it’s not that hard. Unlike _some people_ I have technique.”

The dark-skinned boy crosses his arms. “I’m starting to feel attacked.”

Keith still can’t believe he’s here, in Lance’s shitty apartment again. Somehow, despite his utter freak out a month ago, he’s been invited back time and time again and it’s amazing. Lance’s Super-Deluxe Game Nights have become the highlight of his week.

“Alright, enough sulking. Let’s move on to the next game,” declares Hunk. He scrolls down a list on his phone, a grin breaking out on his face. “You’ll like this one, Lance.”

“Oh yeah? Who chose it?” 

“It was my turn to choose the game,” says Keith.

“And what exactly are we doing? Hmmm?” Lance demands, his eyes narrowed. 

Keith can’t help but find it adorable how concentrated Lance gets when he plays Uno, or how loudly he screams when he’s down to his last card. Keith has yet to understand how Lance turns the number one in Spanish into the sexiest word Keith has ever heard because _Jesus Christ_ , that has to be illegal. He treats every game like it’s life or death, which turns the most boring games into all-out battles. Keith has no idea how, but Lance made war, _fucking_ _“flip-a-lousy-card-and-pray-Lady-Luck-won’t-fuck-you-over” war_ one of the most exciting games he’s ever played. And he never plays the same game twice either, it’s like the apartment is a treasure trove of board and card games.

“Bottle flipping.”

Lance grins. “I am totally going to cream you.”

“You already did.”

“Not again,” moans Pidge. “Just when I start to relax around the two of you, you guys mention _that_ and it’s like, oh yeah, Keith’s the guy Lance hooked up with that one time, and I think, with all the random details I keep getting, I’ll be able to write a fucking spin off to _Fifty Shades_!”

Keith turns red.

There haven’t been anymore instances like The Incident, as Keith has come to call it. He’s pretty convinced Lance just wants a simple friendship with him, and that the one night of phone sex was just his hormones after all the innuendos of the night and the whole Soap Thing. But Lance is a really flirty person, and at first he thought maybe they had something because Lance just makes it too easy to make him blush by referencing their one night together, and it’s fun and keeps Keith on his toes, but Lance is a flirt, as proven by his inability to resist the temptation to make a pass at anyone (Keith had been so confused when Lance made a suggestive comment about Hunk’s arms and Hunk, whom Keith _knows_ is in a committed relationship with a girl from his geology class, flexed his muscles and Lance “swooned”, after which they both fist bumped and said the word “bro” a lot).

Hunk comes back with several bottles of different sizes, all of which are empty. He dumps them on the coffee table that Keith has learnt can support more weight than originally thought.

“Do you guys re-use them?”

“God no,” says Lance, shaking his head. “We could get some serious cash if we recycled them. Wait, we _should_ be recycling them. We get like, 10 or 15 cents per bottle. Hunk, we have like, 100 bottles!”

“That’s only 10 bucks, Lance.”

“Still, 10 bucks is 10 bucks richer.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “You’re still not explaining them.”

“Uh—”

“Lance likes to use them as microphones when he sings _Guantanamera_.”

Keith frowns. “But you only have one mouth.”

“Different shapes mean different acoustics,” Lance replies without a hint of shame.

The half-Korean rolls his eyes and grabs a bottle with a peeling label wrapped around it. He fills it with some water and waits as Pidge, Lance and Hunk fill their own bottles.

“This is kind of a stupid game,” says Pidge. “All we have to do it make it land standing up, right? Where’s the challenge in that?”

“Do you know how hard it is to do that?” Lance demands, turning on them. “You don’t appreciate the art of bottle flipping. We’ll score it based on how much it teeters. Throw on three, got it?”

“This is stupid.”

“Shut your pie hole, Pidge,” says Lance. “It’s game time!”

Hunk counts them down.

Everyone flips.

_SPLASH!_

Lance’s bottle flies into the air and hits the wall opposite him, busting open. Hunk and Pidge’s bottles fall harmlessly to the floor, one rolling underneath the couch. 

“HOLY SHIT, KEITH!”

Keith blinks. They’re all wet. What’s the big deal?

“Hunk, can we have instant playback?”

“I wasn’t filming,” says the Samoan boy with a frown. “And it’s a good thing too. You know we can’t afford to fix our phones if we get water damage.”

“B-but Keith cheated!”

Ah.

Keith’s water bottle is standing perfectly upright on the table that Lance overshot. 

“You would’ve been fine, if you hadn’t used as much force, and chosen a better water bottle,” he says, frowning at the remains of the Dr. Pepper. 

“You talk like there’s a science to water bottle flipping.”

“There’s a science to _everything_.” 

Pidge rubs their chin, tilting their head. “Keith’s right. Your trajectory was perfect, but you put too much force. If you were a bit better at being _gentle_ , _maybe_ we wouldn’t be wet right now.”

“Keith likes that I’m rough, don’t you, Keith?”

“No comment.”

“Mean!”

Being around Lance is more or less the same as an exercise in trying not to flood his body with blood in a specific direction; either into his cheeks or his groin. Keith fails at both.

“You’re just jealous.”

Despite the fact that Keith is joking, Lance is now on his hands and knees. It looks different now that he can actually see him. It looks _better_ , predictably. “Teach me, oh great Bottle Flipper Extraordinaire! I am unworthy to stand before you!”

“Lance?”

“Yes, oh Great One?”

“Get the fuck up.”

Lance scrambles to his feet and bows, humbly. “As your Highness wishes!”

Keith rolls his eyes, but he’s unable to hide his smile.

Lance winks at him.

_This is starting to get dangerous._

There’s a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it, anything to get away from you idiots,” says Pidge.

“You love us!” Lance screams at their back as they open the door.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Is uh, is Keith here?”

Keith turns at the sound of his name to see Shiro standing in Lance’s doorway and everything crumbles.

Lance has given Keith a place in his apartment and he’s started to think of it as his home, a place where the pressures of his normal life can’t reach him, too far away to be seen, but there is Shiro, decked out in the usual business attire and Keith feels the illusion shatter.

“Shiro.”

Pidge turns to Keith. “You know this guy?”

“He’s my brother.” He makes his way to Shiro, who looks uncomfortable and Keith wonders if that’s what he looks like to the others when he first comes in. It takes him at least half an hour before he feels like he can roll up his sleeves, and another hour before he decides to ditch the tie. Every time he comes over, he wishes he had more boring clothes in his closet so he could fit in more. “What are you doing here?”

“You have to come with me,” says Shiro. “I really don’t want to pull you away from your friends, but Lotor is looking for you and—”

“Got it.”

Keith grabs his tie from the coffee table, and gets his blazer from a coat hanger that also holds Lance’s jacket. They don’t have enough coat hangers. Keith thinks it’s adorable.

“You’re leaving?”

He turns to Lance, who looks very much like a kicked puppy. “I gotta go,” he says. “But hey, at least I’m not bleeding this time around.”

Shiro looks at Lance. “Hey! Moustache Pilot Man!”

“Elevator Dude!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’m glad you’re all catching up, but we have to go. I’ll be back … sometime.” Keith would love to say he’ll be back in a few hours, or, at most, tomorrow, but he doesn’t know because his schedule is always so busy and Lotor plans meetings without telling him and even though Keith does nothing but sit there and listen as the “grown-ups talk”, he’s not allowed to skip out on them. 

Shiro guides him to the exit. The sound of the door closing is too final for Keith’s liking.

“How’d you find me?” he asks as he flips his blazer over his shoulder.

Shiro laughs.

“What?”

“You look like a delinquent.”

“I do not!”

“You totally do!” says the elder boy with a laugh. “Your hair is sticking up everywhere, your sleeves are rolled up, you’ve popped the first three buttons of your shirt, your tie is just around your neck like it’s a fucking ribbon of red, and the way you’re holding your jacket! It’s like you’re one of those violent juvie kids who’s part of the mob or something!”

“You didn’t answer my question,” says Keith as they walk down the streets. “How’d you find me?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Now I _need_ to know.” They turn the corner and Keith sees Shiro’s private driver waiting for them. “Where’s my bike?”

“Don’t worry, we put it in the back.”

“Don’t think you can avoid my question, Shiro,” Keith says, gritting his teeth. “The more you ignore it, the more I’m going to assume the worst. How’d you find me?”

“I may have looked at your phone?”

“How’d you get past the encryption?”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “With your shitty password?”

“It’s not a shitty password!”

“It is.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I thought you were going to tell me something like Zarkon has me chipped, so that’s not that bad. But if you do it again, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“See? You’ve got the whole delinquent thing down! Now you just need piercings and tattoos,” Shiro says with a grin. “But seriously, we gotta get back soon, so hop in the car. I’ll make sure Ulaz doesn’t say anything.”

Keith gets in and begins to button up his shirt. 

Shiro gets in after him.

As Keith tries to do up his tie, he feels Shiro’s eyes on him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You wouldn’t be staring at me if it was nothing. What is it?”

Shiro reaches out and his hands start to undo the terrible knot Keith has begun to do to his tie. “Seriously, it escapes me how you still don’t know how to do this.”

“It’s hard, okay?”

Shiro chuckles. “Yeah, sure.” Once he’s done, he pats the knot. “There you go.”

“You gonna tell me _now_ why you were staring? Because you really suck at doing the whole avoidance thing.”

Shiro shrugs. “You’re just … different.”

“Delinquent-like?”

“No, nothing like that. More like … I don’t know how to describe it, but you’re not as tense as you always are. Lance seems to be good for you.”

Keith slips on his blazer and fiddles with the cufflinks. “What’s your point?” He’s hoping his voice isn’t giving away how anxious he is.

“You like him.”

“I already knew that.”

“No, you _like like_ him.”

Keith snorts. “Are we really doing this again?”

Shiro ruffles Keith’s already messy hair, much to his annoyance. “I’m just teasing. It seems he likes you too.”

Keith shakes his head. “Nah.” He hopes it sounds casual.

“What do you mean ‘nah’?” Shiro asks. “That boy is totally smitten with you. Did you somehow miss the way he was undressing you with his eyes? You’ve got him wrapped around your pale-as-hell finger.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“How do you know?”

_He touches everyone as much as he touches me. He flirts with anything that breathes. He isn’t trying to pull any moves on me. I’ve seen him be smooth to get someone to sleep with him. He hasn’t used any of those moves on me since. He only stares because his mind wanders and he gets distracted. He pushed me away that one time I tried to kiss him. I’m just a fling to him._

“I just know, okay?”

Shiro’s brow furrows. “I don’t get it. He’s totally into you—”

“No, he’s not!”

Shiro backs away at Keith’s sudden raise in volume.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” says Shiro. “We got some time before we get back, Ulaz’ll take the long route.” Shiro nods to the driver. “Tell me. I’ve got time.”

Keith sighs. “I’m in deep shit.”

Shiro laughs.

“This isn’t funny!”

“It kind of is. Admit it, you’re head over heels for this guy, who is equally crazy over you, and yet you’re hesitating. I just want to know why.”

“I’m not head over heels, and neither is he,” Keith says, rolling his eyes. “I just … I wasn’t prepared.”

“For what?”

“For _him_. It’s weird. Like, I think I like him? I’m not really sure.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“I mean, I like him, but I’m not sure if I like him like that. I know I … I’d like it if we were like that, I’m not … I’m not _opposed_ to it—”

“Opposed?” Shiro chuckles. “You make it sound like a business deal.”

“I … it’s confusing. I thought liking someone was supposed to be like in the movies, where your stomach gets all tied up and you can’t speak and you sweat and get anxious and all those other things that make it sound like you’ve come down with a terminal illness, or whatever. 

“I don’t … it’s weird, but I don’t feel anything when I’m with Lance. It’s like I’ve been spending my whole life feeling something, like I actually _was_ sick, like I dreaded every encounter I’ve ever had, and then when I’m with Lance, the feeling is gone. Does that make sense?”

Shiro frowns. “Not really?”

Keith sighs. “Never mind, I—”

“Hey, I’m your brother, I’m here to listen. Tell me so that it _does_ make sense.”

Keith runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t know how to explain it. Because it really _isn’t_ like the books and stories he’s always heard of how it’s supposed to feel when you like someone and he thinks it might’ve been easier to explain if it was, and maybe easier to deal with if his worst problem was fighting a terrarium in his stomach.

“My whole life I’ve always been something. I used to be That Kid, the one they shoved around at the orphanage that no one wanted, that no one bothered with. I lived on survival instincts, stealing food whenever I could and pretending to be a good child when I thought it would increase my chances of getting the fuck out of there.

Then I got adopted and I was Zarkon Galra’s son. Nothing really changed. I was the one with manners, the quiet one. The one who sat on the sidelines, so I won’t make anyone mad. I was the youngest, the newest addition to the family, the one most likely to get kicked out if I misbehaved. It was like That Kid 2.0

“But with Lance, it’s like I’m _Keith_ , and I don’t even know who _the fuck_ Keith is. I’ve spent my whole life being something I had to be to survive that I’ve never just been me. I’m just kind of learning who I am with him, which is kind of sad, because I’ve been on this earth for nearly two decades and I have no idea who the fuck I am. I didn’t even know how I liked my pizza until recently. And I’m just learning more about myself, about who _I_ am, not who I pretend to be and I’m learning more about him too, and it’s just … I don’t know. _I don’t know,_ and a part of me thinks I could really like him, maybe this Keith that I’m learning I am really likes him, but I’m basically having an identity crisis and I’m a total wreck. I don’t …” Words escape him and his hands, which had been previously gesturing wildly in the confined limousine, fall limp at his sides.

Shiro’s brow furrows. “I don’t think you’re discovering who you are.”

“But I—”

“No, let me talk this time,” he cuts him off. “I don’t think you’re discovering who you are because you’ve always been you, despite the way Zarkon has been trying to make you into something you’re not. You think you hide your personality so well? You wrinkle your nose every time you drink wine, and you never talk to anyone at those fancy dinners. If you really _were_ the son of Zarkon you seem to think you are, you’d be talking to everyone, trying to build connections, the way Lotor does.

“I think you’re quiet because you want to be, not because you’ve been forced to be. Well, maybe you are, but it’s also because you’re not as outgoing as I am, you don’t like talking to people a lot, you like to have your own space, your own room to breathe. That’s fine. That’s the way you are.

“I don’t think meeting Lance was some kind of awakening of yourself, the way you seem to think it is. I think it’s more of a rediscovering. Because you’ve always been _you_ , you just haven’t always acted like it. I think being around Lance, it lets you … it lets you be who you want to be, who you actually are. You’re so convinced you’re something you’re not, that this Keith you are now is so different from past you, but you’re not all that different. You’re as you always have been, but now you’re not hiding it. Does that make sense?”

Keith nods slowly. “I guess …”

“Hey, I’m not trying to say that Lance hasn’t brought something out of you, because I can tell you’ve changed. You’re a lot … _bolder_. You were always feisty, but you kept it inside most of the time. You’re toeing the line a lot more, like you’ve just now reached your rebellious phase.”

Keith sighs, drumming his fingers against the leather seat. “It doesn’t matter what he makes me feel anyway, he doesn’t like me.”

Shiro frowns. “Keith?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s Keith’s turn to frown. “Why?”

“I just …” Shiro sighs. “I never wanted you to feel like you couldn’t be yourself around me, like you had to hold yourself back or be anything other than who you are. I’m glad Lance lets you be like that, without the constraints Zarkon puts on you, but I always thought … I don’t know if it was my conceit, but I thought I was better than them. That I made you more comfortable. I’ve always tried to be that brother, the one you could lean on if you needed support. I’m sorry I failed at that.”

Keith’s eyes widen. “No, Shiro, you totally misunderstood! I do feel comfortable around you. I’ve thought about running away so many times, but then you talk to me and I feel better, and it’s like … I don’t know, but you are much better than Zarkon and Lotor.”

Shiro scoffs. “That’s not much to beat though, is it?”

“It’s just that with Lance, it’s different. I don’t, with you I don’t feel like … I don’t—”

“Want me to fuck you?”

Keith turns red. “Fuck you! I was seriously concerned that I had made you feel bad! I take back all my kind words!”

Shiro laughs, rolling his eyes. “Hey, all joking aside, I _am_ here for you. Whenever you need me.”

Keith worries his bottom lip, uncrossing his arms. “I know.”

“Good.”

* * *

Lance can safely admit he trips over himself in his rush to answer the door. He yanks it open with a jerk and leans against the doorframe, trying to get his shit back together. “Yo, Keith! How many times do I gotta tell ya, you don’t hafta knoc— who the fuck are you?”

There is a tall man standing in the doorway who is decidedly _not_ Keith. He has sharp features, narrow eyes and light hair. He seems a bit familiar to the Cuban, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. 

The man pushes past him without a word and enters the room. 

“Sure, come right on in, gee, do you want me to take your coat?” because the man is wearing a very expensive suit, a type of suit that Lance has only ever seen Keith wearing. It looks better on Keith though.

The man runs his finger along the surface of the coffee table and frowns, staring at the residue on his digit. He frowns and wipes it on his shirt, his nose crinkling.

“You going to answer me? Because I can call the cops—”

“Lance McClain, born July 29th, blood type O. Member of high school archery team, swim team captain, award winner of several culinary prizes, positions in school retracted due to a surplus in detentions. The middle child of seven, originally from Matanzas, Cuba. Bilingual in English and Spanish, knows morse code, and attempted to learn ASL.”

“AH HA! _ACCENT GUY_!”

The man blinks and opens his mouth to speak, but shakes his head, as though deciding against it. “I came here to see the reason as to why Keith has begun to smell of motor oil. I have found the source.”

 _Don’t scratch your neck. Don’t scratch your neck. He is_ ** _not_** _going to make you feel bad about working—_ Lance scratches the back of his neck. _Goddammit!_

The man stands up straight and juts out his chin. “Do not see Keith anymore.”

Lance frowns. “Not happening, bud.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “I do not believe you heard me correctly. That was not a request.”

“And I don’t think you heard me correctly. I said no. And I mean no. And now that you’ve said your bit, how about you tell me who the fuck you are?”

The man’s brow creases. “I am Lotor Galra, and I order you to seize your contact with Keith.”

“You order me? You _order_ me?” Lance repeats. “I don’t think so, Lo _turd_. Are you my Mamá? No, you’re not. And if you think you can bully me into stopping my friendship with Keith, think again. You said it yourself, I’m the middle child of _seven_. If you think that’s the way to threaten me into doing what you want, try again _chico_. You’re gonna have to try a _lot_ harder than that.” Lance crosses his arms. “Besides, should’ve thought of that _before_ he seduced me with his bottle flipping skills.”

Lotor frowns. “Bottle flipping?”

“It’s an art form, and he’s mastered it. It’s quite attractive when a man can bottle flip perfectly.”

The eldest Galra’s eye twitches. “Perhaps I have not made myself clear—”

“Oh, no, you are clear. Like crystal. But I just don’t care. You can’t threaten a man who doesn’t give a damn.”

“Your permanent record—”

“Don’t care.”

“You would potentially have to leave the country—”

“Keith’ll stick up for me.”

Lotor tilts his head, examining him. Lance stiffens his body so as not to flinch under his gaze. The man almost looks human when he’s looking at Lance like that, but at the same time, it’s like he’s a machine, trying to find Lance’s blueprints and then pull him apart to find out which gears make him tick, with no intention of putting him back together again. 

“I do not understand.”

Lance says nothing.

“You are nothing spectacular,” says Lotor. He begins to circle him, almost like a vulture, preying on their next meal. “You reek of cheap products that are clearly there just because someone nagged you about washing your hair. You do not posses any extravagant qualities, you have no wealth to speak of, you come from a less than middle class family. You are not particularly smart, you can barely pay your own tuition, you share an apartment with two other people because you can’t manage to pull 150 a month on your own. 

“I can not understand why he sees anything of value in you, as I am struggling to remain in your presence without doing something unsightly. You are irritating, unremarkable, and frankly, a nuisance.”

“Oh yeah, keep going, you’re doing wonders for my self-esteem,” Lance deadpans. “But in all seriousness, I’m not letting Keith go. I’ll fight you tooth and nail, or claw, or however that saying is supposed to go, because I like him. _A lot_. And not even you and your freaky-ass accent can psych me out.”

Lotor frowns. He walks over to Lance and towers over him. The blue-eyed boy refuses to move. The businessman’s voice takes on a menacing tone. “I will repeat it one more time. Stay away from Keith. If you fail to do so, I will have to take drastic action.”

Lance rolls his eyes.

Lotor leaves.

Lance can breathe again.

Whipping out his phone, he dials Hunk’s number quickly.

“Hunk, we got a sitch.”

“Lance, what did I tell you about speaking Kim Possible style? This is not a Kimmunicator.”

“I wish! But seriously, this is so the drama! We’ve got work to do.”

Hunk sighs. “What is it?”

“Ever heard of Lotor Galra?”

* * *

“I can _not_ believe you pissed off  _Lotor Galra_ of all people.”

“I have bad luck with Galras, okay? Or good luck, depending on the child,” Lance says with a sheepish shrug.

“Why are you dragging me into your soap opera life?” demands Pidge. “I was trying to test out my newest app—”

“Listen Pidge, not everyone can live an uncomplicated life like yours! I’m in _crisis_!”

Pidge rolls their eyes. “How about we just leave Lance to his own devices and see what happens?”

“You can’t abandon me!” shrieks the Cuban. “This is an injustice! This is a crime against humanity! I’ve just been _threatened with deportation by a man with an accent for trying to get with his little brother!_ ”

“Well at least you know he cares,” Hunk says with a shrug. “I mean like, he could just be an unredeemable bastard, but he’s not, so I mean …”

“You _could_ just back off before your head ends up on a pike,” Pidge suggests.

“What? I can’t back down! Think about how lame I’d sound if I said that I got spooked by some guy with an accent—”

“But you _did_ get spooked by a guy with an accent.”

“To be fair, that guy was Lotor Galra, which makes my spooked-ness seem more justified.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“You could be a bit nicer, Pidge.”

“And you could be less hopeless when it comes to Mullet Boy. We can’t always get what we want.”

Hunk rolls his eyes. “But in all seriousness, what are you going to do about this whole … Galra situation?”

Lance scoffs. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m gonna take him out.”

* * *

When Keith opens the door, the last thing he expects to see is Lance fucking McClain.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, darling,” Lance says. He’s holding a bundle of blankets in his arms, and he’s grinning with that mischievous gleam in his eye. The one Keith has come to learn means something is about to happen that will be both exciting, and reason for Keith to question his decision to keep hanging out with Lance.

“I uh, course I’m glad to see you, but I mean, how the fuck did you find my house?”

“You’re the son of a multi-billion dollar man, it ain’t that hard.”

Zarkon is _not_ Keith’s father. 

“You okay? You look tense.”

“Fine.”

Lance looks him up and down, frowning. Keith tries to relax, to unclench his jaw. He’s pretty sure he fails, but Lance lets it drop. “Is your brother here? Loturd?”

 _Loturd?_ “You mean Lotor?”

“Yeah him.”

“Uh, he’s at the office,” Keith says. “He’s in a business meeting.”

“Fuck, I wanted to rub it in his face …”

“Rub what in his face?”

“My awesomeness.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Any reason why you’re here?”

Lance’s face breaks out into a wide grin. “We’re going have some fun tonight.”

“I don’t like the way you’re wiggling your eyebrows.”

“You got something to say to them?”

_Honestly, he’s so ridiculous sometimes._

“Let’s go, you gotta get in my car, cause we’re going on a drive.”

“Where? I have to be home before Zarkon gets back—”

Lance frowns. “You’re nineteen. Does he really control you that much?”

Zarkon … Zarkon is scary. There’s no denying that. He has an overwhelming presence that seems to suck out all the air in the room, Lance doesn’t understand because he’s never had to face him before. Lance just doesn’t get it because he comes from a normal family where people are normal and you get to do normal things and you don’t have to worry about the pressure of “ruining the Galra name”. God, if Zarkon found out that Keith was _gay_ he’d probably be killed on the spot. He can’t stand to think about it, at all. 

“I just …”

“Come on. Just once?”

Keith bites his bottom lip. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s a bad idea in every way because if Lotor finds out from Shiro, then he’ll tell Zarkon, or if Zarkon finds out, Keith can say good-bye to his life.

“I …”

Lance raises an eyebrow.

_Well, at least I didn’t die a virgin._

“Sure.”

* * *

“Mamá! I’m home!”

Loud. That’s the first thought Keith has the moment the front door is pushed open. There are so many _bodies_ , so many people running around. The light is dim, it reminds Keith of that scene in that Christmas movie when they forgot the kid at home. With all this chaos, Keith can understand how that mistake could happen.

“WAS THAT LANCE?!”

The people in the too-crowded hallway all stop. There’s only an instant of pause before they all start jumping on Lance, ruffling his hair, nudging him, hugging him.

“ _Oye, ¡baja la velocidad, baja la velocidad!_ ” says Lance and Keith can’t tell what he’s saying but it’s hot as fuck. Maybe he has a language kink? “ _Es bueno ver a todos—_ ”

" _¿Qu ien es el chico?_ "

Keith doesn't have to speak Spanish to know that he's been spotted.

" _Él se ve rígido. ¿Lo secuestraste?_ "

Lance glares at one of the Cubans. " _Él no habla español, y lo estás volviendo loco, ¡por supuesto que está rígido!_ "

"He's not even Cuban!” Keith is thrown through a loop at the sudden shift in languages.

"Does he need to be?"

“Bro, you going for the chickens now?”

“That’s not nice, Alex,” one of them chides the other. “But seriously, Lance, he looks like he’s gonna shit his pants.”

“I uh …”

There’s too many of them. They aren’t threatening, just overwhelming. They all have the same dark skin, some have blue eyes, some have green eyes. They all have different heights, but they all sport the same wide grin. It’s not as lopsided as Lance’s, but it’s familiar. Keith feels terrible because he’s so close to having a panic attack because they’re being _friendly_.

He’s pathetic.

“Lay off of him,” says Lance, and then there are warm arms wrapping around him, grabbing at his hair and he’s pressed up against Lance’s back. He’s flushing, he just knows he is. This is so fucking embarrassing, but he sinks into Lance’s body like it’s a blanket.

“Did we scare him?”

“What do you think, idiots?” Lance snaps. “Where’s Mamá? Did she let you off your leash?”

“Mamá’s busy with dinner. I’m assuming we’re making another plate?”

Lance scoffs. “Like we need to.” 

“Hey, don’t hog him, I wanna meet Lance’s new beau—”

“I’m uh, I’m not …”

Lance places a finger to Keith’s lips, his breath ghosting over his ear. “Be quiet, be very careful. Any sudden movements and they’ll jump on you.”

“Oy, what are you telling him?”

“Nothing!”

And Lance’s voice just broke his eardrum. Not the worst last thing he could hear.

There are so many of them, so many peering eyes and Keith knows they drove a hell of a long way to get to where they are but for the first time, he’s not counting down the moments until he gets in trouble, how long it’ll take for him to get back to the Galra residence. He’s not thinking about the latest time he has to leave in order to get back before Zarkon murders him. He just clutches onto Lance’s jacket and nearly seals himself into him. He’d be okay if Lance decided to zip up his jacket right now, and hide him from everyone’s gaze.

Just when Keith thinks he’s about to be eaten by the McClain Clan, there’s a loud voice that screams _“¡TRANQUILO!”_  

The sea of Cubans parts instantly and a woman comes into view. She’s got warm rosy cheeks and the same blue eyes as Lance, sparkling with laughter. 

“Where have you been, huh?” she demands, wavering around a ladle as though it’s a weapon.

“Ah …” Lance sucks in a breath. “I was uh, out?”

“You’re late.”

“I know, I just had to um—”

The woman’s eyes land on Keith. “Let go of the poor boy!” she shakes her head. “I swear, don’t tell me now that I’ve raised you wrong!”

Lance’s grip loosens on him. Keith wants to chase after the warmth of his fingers, but under the peering eyes of his family, he resists. “I’m not trapping him,” Lance grumbles defensively.

“You’re letting him meet Mamá. Must be serious ‘bout this one, eh, Lancey?”

“Don’t call me that!”

The woman walks down the hallway, each step taking away Keith’s breath. He’s panicking. Big time. It’s Lance’s _mother_. He’s going to die. He is 100%, without fail, going to die. 

“Look sharp, _niño_ ,” says Lance’s mother, and now she’s in front of him and … _wow, she’s really pretty._ Not like a woman who has given birth to at least half a dozen children. “Stop suffocating him, he looks like he’s ready to die.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was telling them—”

“You too, Lance,” says Mrs. McClain. She grins at Keith and it warms him inside. The room doesn’t feel crowded anymore, it feels cozy. Not suffocating, more snug and warm. “Come on, we’ve got to fatten you up!”

“I uh, I don’t want to intrude—”

“Nonsense, any _novio_ of Lance’s is family.”

“Ohana,” says Lance with a grin.

“We’re still not Hawaiian,” says one of the children.

“It can still apply!”

Keith doesn’t know what’s happening, but he’s ushered into the kitchen where there are piles and piles of food. It all smells amazing, and his mouth is starting to water. The McClain kids seem to have calmed down, they’re not grabbing for the food like Keith expected them to, they all take their seats and are waiting. Lance gestures for Keith to sit next to him. He does.

Once Mrs. McClain has sat down, her children go about eating in a pretty organized way, nothing like the chaos that was the hallway.

There are surprisingly no grilling questions during dinner. They eat, lots of conversation happening, nothing is really directed at Keith, and Lance catches up with what his family has been doing while he’s been away at university. Apparently, it’s common for him to come and visit twice a month for dinner. 

It’s when Lance excuses himself to go to the bathroom that the questions start.

“Where did you two meet?”

“What are your intentions with our bro?”

“What makes you worthy of him?”

“You look scared. We don’t accept scaredy cats into our brother’s life.”

“What is wrong with your hair?”

“If you hurt him, we’ll all kill you. I know how to use a shotgun.”

“Why are you so fucking skinny?”

“Have you ever worked a day in your life?”

“How the fuck did Lance get you to date him?”

Keith is sweating up a storm.

There’s a sudden whistle.

Mrs. McClain sits at the head of the table, and pulls her fingers from her lips. She glares at the ones sitting around the table and settles her gaze on Keith. It doesn’t help that he’s sitting directly across from her. Somehow, it reminds him of the times in the meeting room with Lotor, but at the same time not. 

“What is your name?” 

“I uh …”

“I’m not going to eat you,” she says in a soft voice. It sounds deadly. “Unless you give me a reason to.”

“I’m Keith, ma’am.”

She chuckles. “There’s no reason to call me ma’am. Julia will do just fine.”

“Right, ma’am— I mean, _Julia_.”

Her eyes sparkle and Keith is filled with an overwhelming sense of calm. “Listen, Lance is my middle child, and I won’t question his judgement of you. You look scared, but I assure you, you have nothing to be scared of. You’re safe here, _¿entender?_ ” There’s something in her voice, something that seems to indicate she knows. Knows about the belts, and the ties that are always done up too tight, knows about the darkness of his room, and the doggy-door for food. She’s so warm. 

Julia McClain terrifies Keith.

Keith nods, almost swallowing his tongue.

“Alright.” She smiles warmly and it’s weird for something so nice and pleasant to be directed at _him_. It’s different and odd, but he likes it. “Now that that’s been dealt with, why don’t you check on my boy? He’s been gone for a while.”

Keith pushes out his chair, nearly knocking it over. She’s winking at him and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t understand the layout of the house, and if anyone should know where Lance is, shouldn’t it be his own family?

He’s standing in the hallway, resembling a lost dog when Lance comes out.

“Hey, sorry, I just got a call from Hunk right when I was gonna get back,” says Lance. Keith frowns. There’s a leaf in his hair. “Did they murder you?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“But are you _fully_ here? Did they like, severe your emotions or something?” Lance frowns. “Sorry, it was my mistake. I shouldn’t have brought you here—”

“Hey, I came here on my own free will. There was no temporary renting or, secret borrowing or whatever the fuck you called it. I like them. They’re … nice.”

“Yeah, until they give you The ‘I’ve got a shotgun’ Talk.”

Keith laughs. “I’ve survived you, haven’t I?”

Lance relaxes. “We’ll be done with them soon anyway. I have other plans for us.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Why do I feel like you’re going to murder me?”

“Oh please, like I could murder the one person who can pull off a mullet. That’d be a crime against humanity.”

Keith laughs. Reaching out, he pulls the leaf out of Lance’s hair. His fingers linger. His hair is unnaturally soft, but there are traces of grease. Lance works at a mechanic shop as a part time job. Keith wants to visit him one day at work. 

Their eyes meet and Lance’s are so _blue_ , Keith doesn’t think he’s ever seen blue before like this. It’s like seeing colour for the first time.

“Did you make a leaf pile while in the bathroom?”

“Something like that.”

Keith’s stomach is going to hurt with how much he laughs around Lance. He’s never laughed like this before. 

He likes this.

He likes _Lance_.

And it’s scary as fuck.

* * *

“Lance, _no_.”

“Lance, _yes_.”

“I am _not_ going up there.”

“Hell yeah you’re going up there,” says the Cuban. “It’s just a little climb.”

“ _Up the side of your fucking house_. Is that roof even meant to support people?”

“I’ve climbed it tons of times.”

“But I’m not you.”

“Of course you’re not, otherwise I’d have fucked myself that night— well, I mean I do that anyway, but— you know what?” Lance wrinkles his nose. “Let’s not think about that too much.”

That’s a good idea because Keith isn’t sure if he could handle _two_ Lances. 

The cold air of the night is running through Keith’s hair, and after the strange event that was dinner with the McClains, they’re now standing in Lance’s garden, staring up at the tall tree with a branch that hangs out far enough to scrape the top of the tiled roof. The roof Lance wants him to climb.

“Why do you think this is a good idea again?”

“Because it’s _stargazing_ , Keith. It’s like, the most romantic thing that exists.”

Keith frowns, because Lance still hasn’t touched him like _that_ since The Incident and he’s sending mixed signals. What does he want from Keith? Because he just needs to know, and he’ll give it. And that’s the scary thing; Keith is pretty sure he’ll do anything Lance asks.

“Do I need to get up there to do it? I’d be more comfortable on the top of your car.”

“Blue can’t handle any extra weight at this point, unless you don’t want a ride back?” Lance chuckles. “Come on, don’t you trust me? I’ll climb up first, and then you just need to follow me.”

“This isn’t like some _Aladdin_ moment where we’re running from guards cause I stole an apple or something, this is like serious, I could fall off the roof and there’d be no magic carpet to stop me from splitting my skull open.”

Lance blinks. “Wow. How did I never notice how much of a fucking Disney nerd you are?”

Keith grits his teeth. “There are more important things to focus on than that.”

 _Mainly the large building you want me to scale like this is some kind of_ **_Mission Impossible_ ** _scene._

“Scared?”

“As if.”

“Prove it.”

Keith knows it’s a trick. It’s a stupid trick that he’s sure has worked on Lance numerous times in his childhood. A dare, a question to his own strength. Of course he’d take the bait, he’s _Lance_ , he’s irrational and he does things impulsively. Keith isn’t like that, he wasn’t brought up in a place like that, he doesn’t do those sorts of things because recklessness is not one of the things that he does. It just _isn’t_.

“You are so on!”

Apparently it has become one of those things he does.

Lance climbs up the tree, scaling the trunk like it’s nothing. He acts as though he knows no fear, and then he’s swinging on the branch that leads to the roof, and with a flip, he’s sitting on it. 

“Should I make a remark about K-I-S-S-I-N-G?”

“Well, if you _insist_. You’ll have to meet me up here though,” Lance says, raising a challenging eyebrow.

Keith doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He puts his foot against the bark of the great oak and feels his shoe slip. Lance is totally insane. This is insanity. What the fuck is he doing? 

Lance waits, watching him, directing him about where to put his feet, how to hoist himself up, but he doesn’t help him. Not physically. Keith doesn’t know how badly his pride would be hurt if he did do that. He’s glad Lance stays where he is.

When he’s finally on the branch, Lance applauds. “Well done.”

“Why do I feel like that was sarcastic?”

“It’s my tone. It’s always this way.” His eyes are sparkling more than any of the stars ever could. “Come on, no time to break now, _niño bonito_ , we gotta get moving.”

To Keith’s horror, Lance stands up on the branch and starts to walk the distance as though he’s an acrobat on the trapeze. He jumps off onto the roof and Keith thinks the tiling will make him slip and fall, but somehow he finds his balance perfectly and sits on the apex of the roof’s spike. 

“I’m waiting,” he teases.

Keith holds onto the branch for dear life because he doesn’t have a death wish, not like Lance. He clings onto it like it’s his lifeline, which, it basically is. He makes his way, shimming down the branch, until he’s in front of Lance’s face, except Keith is upside down. The blood is rushing to his head. That’s why his cheeks are so warm. _Yeah, let’s go with that._

“Going classic _Spider-Man_?”

“I uh …”

“Does this mean I’m Kristen Dunst?” Lance shakes his head and reaches out, grabbing Keith by his torso. He pulls down and Keith lets go of the branch reflexively. He lands on Lance, who lets out an “oof”. 

“Okay, that could’ve gone smoother …” 

Keith is so high off the ground. The tiles are softened only slightly by the blankets Lance has spread out, and Keith realizes this must’ve been what Lance was doing when he “went to the bathroom”. It’s cold up here, like the air is thinner, like it’s harder to breathe, but it might be because Lance has an arm around his shoulder to stop him from teetering forward too much.

“I …”

“Look up,” says Lance.

Keith does.

The sky seems to illuminate, thousands of tiny lights are before him. Lance grins. “Like it?”

With his head tilted up at the stars, the moon lights up his face, casting the perfect shadow over him. He looks so excited, so much like a child, it reminds him of when he saw him in the simulator. Because Lance can’t be summed up in a few quick words. He can’t be shoved into a category, not like other people.

Lance is a strange collection of mixed parts and odd ends that don’t always makes sense to him, but he’s a mystery Keith would have lots of fun uncovering. He doesn’t have to solve him, he just wants to know more and more and as much as Lance will let him. 

Because Lance McClain is beautiful.

It’s a different kind of beauty than the one you see in magazines, though he’s not hard on the eyes. He and Shiro both have loud personalities. Ones that call attention to them, but when you get there, Shiro kind of mellows out, like the original big show, big confidence, was to reel you in, and then once you’re there, he’s nice and he’s fine, but he’s not as explosive as he first seems.

Lance draws you in, and you stay there because he is so explosive. Lance is like a firecracker. He’s bright, he’s loud, and you know he’s going to explode, he’s going to do something reckless, you just never know when and when it does happen, it’s wonderful. But no, that’s not right. Because firecrackers are fleeting, they’re momentary and are gone in a flash. Lance isn’t like an ever-burning flame either, because fire has always been destructive and all-encompasing in a way that excites, but also hurts. Lance doesn’t hurt. 

Lance McClain is a lava lamp. He’s barely contained energy, always moving, always bright, always glowing. He’s fluid and moves with grace. The patterns that are made in the glass are always beautiful, but never predictable.

Keith is scared.

Because dammit, Lance is making it just so easy. So easy to like him, with his carefree posture and his reckless attitude and the way he speaks in Spanish and is forward, but somehow makes Keith’s head run in circles because Keith doesn’t love Lance, but he just makes it seem so _easy_. 

He’d be _so easy_ to love.

And Keith can feel himself on the edge, ready to fall, and he knows he’d never be able to catch himself. The scariest part is he doesn’t want to catch himself. 

Lance pulls at him like the tide, reeling him in, chaotic and crazy and it feels like he’s drowning sometimes, but at the same time it’s like he can finally breathe and he doesn’t know what he’d do if that feeling ever left him. He doesn’t know how he’d save himself, if there’s a lifeguard over-watching him as he trips and stumbles his way into this unknown territory because Lance is something otherworldly to him, staring at the stars, it’s like he belongs with them, up there, in the sky, far and untouchable. 

Lance looks up at the stars and Keith just knows he is meant to be up there, in the sky, among the stars, in the atmosphere, far away from Keith. Because realistically, they were never supposed to meet and all of this was chance.

Lance is a fallen star. He belongs in the sky, untouchable to man.

“You alright?”

Keith swallows his Adam’s apple.

_Ah. So this is falling._

“I’m fine.”

Lance gives him a look and it’s too much, so Keith looks up at the sky.

He wonders if Lance, the boy meant for the stars, would take little o’l Keith with him to dance on the rings of Saturn.

* * *

Keith’s hair looks really soft. It is soft. Lance knows because he’s run his fingers through it before, but he hasn’t since and his hands ache to reach out and feel the texture again, but he holds himself back. 

“Why are you sitting on your hands?”

_So I don’t hug the ever living fuck out of you._

“Psh, you think I do things for any specific reason? I’m a weird whirlwind of randomness, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want without having to explain it to you!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

Lance knows internally that it’s totally not healthy how much he likes the nape of Keith’s neck, where his hair curls just a little inwardly and Lance knows it tickles him. It’s weird to sit on the roof next to someone he slept with once, and hasn’t since, despite his ever present want for him.

Lance thinks he really should’ve worked on self-restraint a bit more.

He can’t tell if his plan to seduce the fuck out Keith is working, because the boy is hard to read at times.

Keith is different from anyone else Lance has been interested in. He’s never tried to woo someone so out of this world. Because even if Keith seems to like the greasy take-out and the stupid games that they play together, it still feels like he could do better, because Keith has gotten so much better.

Nothing reminds him of this fact more than Lotor’s visit.

Keith breathes in deeply and Lance stares at his mouth way too much.

“Are they always like that?”

It takes Lance a few seconds to remember what Keith is talking about. “Sometimes. Mainly when I bring someone home.”

Lance thinks he’s moving too fast, but he can’t bring himself to pull the brakes. Keith looked so perfect sitting there at the table, like he was meant to be there, and Mamá thinks he’s good, which is more than she’s had to say about any of the other people he’s brought home. 

“So, Mr. The Moon Landing Was Faked, what do you know about astronomy?” Lance asks, to push aside the feeling his chest. _Bad heart, not right now._

“I don’t believe in star signs, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Wasn’t talking about horoscopes, but thanks for the heads up.” Lance grins. “I mean like, you know, what do you know about stars? About constellations? The moons of Jupiter?”

“I uh, I don’t know, basic stuff really? I mean I had a private tutor, they didn’t really think the stars were that important.”

“Are you kidding? The stars are the most important.” Lance leans back, supports himself on his hands and doesn’t let himself reach out to Keith. “Think about it. There are whole other galaxies out there, other solar systems, other planets, other life. When people in the olden days didn’t have phones, they looked to the skies. No matter where you are, we all are under the same sky. It’s what I like to think whenever I feel homesick.”

“You don’t like that far from home—”

“No, I mean _home_. Cuba,” Lance says. “We moved out here a few years ago, when I was thirteen. I still miss Cuba.” He shrugs. “I just … I don’t know. Mamá always told me I was a dreamer because I always had my head in the clouds. I didn’t. I wasn’t looking for the clouds, I didn’t want to touch the sun. I’m not that stupid. Clouds, clouds are just water molecules in a specific pattern. Clouds are nothing compared to stars. To asteroids. To meteors, to comets.”

Keith laughs. “To infinity and beyond?”

“Beyond that even. I just … they say dreamers look to the skies, but why _wouldn’t_ they? Why wouldn’t _anyone_? Not only dreamers look to the skies. It’s unavoidable to see it, it’s right there, and despite what Chicken Little says, it ain’t falling any time soon. I mean … it’s hard to explain. What do you think of, when you see it? When you look at the sky like this?”

Keith tilts his head up and shrugs. “I just … I feel small. So small in comparison to everything that exists. I mean, I’m nothing in the grand scheme of things. I’m just here, on one Earth, as one person out of 7 billion. It’s not hard to imagine that I’m insignificant.”

“Think about it a bit more though,” says Lance. “Think about it like this. Okay, you’re small. You are so small, no one will notice you, but do you know how big the universe is? It’s ever-expanding. There’s always something more, something greater, something bigger. Something amazing, that you just can’t see, and just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there. There’s so much more to see than can ever be seen, so much more to do than can ever be done—”

“Are you quoting _The Lion King_ to me?”

“David Tennant actually, who was quoting _The Lion King_ , so six degrees of separation. Think about it, Simba probably has a Tennant number of 2. That’s one fucking lucky lion.”

Keith laughs.

“But in all seriousness. It doesn’t scare me how big the world is. I mean, I don’t see how it can scare other people. Because it’s just … I mean, it’s _infinite_. That just means infinite possibilities, infinite things to discover, to explore and I know I’ll never get around to it all, because of course I can’t, it’s impossible. But I want to _try_.

"There are so many things people never bother to see because they don’t think it matters. So we’ve found out the asteroid belt exists, big deal, now what? Just because you’ve found it, doesn’t mean that’s where it ends. Because it never ends. And I won’t get to it all, but that doesn’t mean I have to see none of it. Because it’s just waiting, it’s right _there_ , waiting for us to find out about it, to learn more and more about it.

“It’s an opportunity for something more. It’s other-worldly. Why guess what other planets are like when you can go to them? Why bother with CGI aliens when you can go and find out for yourself what it’s like? Why imagine them as the invaders? Why do they always have to be the bad guys? _We’re_ the intruders, but I mean, can you blame us? There’s just so much to see, and it’s hard to not want to see it. I can’t imagine _not_ wanting to go for it.

“Because in space, everything is different. There are no boundaries, except for those that countries say exist, but not even because in space, there is no territory, no one has claimed ownership over anything, you’re not allowed to own space. You’re not allowed to control it, because it just _is_. Space is freedom. And I guess you could say that space is the void and that it’s never-ending and it’s unknown, but doesn’t that make it _exciting_? The world looked to the stars and thought touching the moon was enough. They’re crazy. There’s so much more to see, to be around, to learn about.

“I just … I want to see it. Because I know it’s beautiful. It’s untouched, and maybe I’d ruin it by touching it, by seeing it, but it’s … it’s the possibilities and the infinite, never-endingness of space, that _this_ is what will remain when we all eventually die. We came from space dust, we came from it, and yet we don’t reach for it. There’s a giant burning ball of fire that’s keeping us alive right now. And we call it a sun. Why the fuck don’t we call it God? Because the Greeks may have been right, the sun might be the source of all things. But maybe it’s not. And what if we could find it? What if we could see it? See what _really_ is at the centre of the universe?

“You catch glimpses of the wonders of space, the aurora borealis, snowstorms, stars, but why do people stop there? There is _no limit_ in space. There is no gravity. There’s nothing to hold you back. Why don’t people go for it? Are they scared of what they’ll find? Is it because they won’t know their way back? Because I think it’s stupid to fear the unknown. Because so what if it’s scary? It could be _amazing_. And they’ll never know, because they couldn’t think past the fact that it’s large and intimidating. And it’s bigger than themselves and that’s why people stop, once they realize how small they are. Because they can’t see the bigger picture, or they don’t like it. 

“There’s just so much _more_. To see, to explore, to understand, to learn about. I don’t want to be afraid of things I don’t know, I want to learn about them. I want to know what space dust feels like, I want to know what a supernova looks like. I want to see an event horizon. I want to do everything I possibly can, because this? This is Earth. Everyone sees Earth, everyone experiences it, but there’s just … so many other things to see beyond the ordinary, and that’s what space is. It’s extraordinary and it’s beautiful and … and it’s terrible, no one notices it. Because it’s right there, right in front of us, and we’re too scared to just reach for it, to even _try_ because of what? A few unknown variables? It’s pathetic that we try to do so much and we preach and preach, but we don’t even know that much about our world. They say that only 2% of the oceans are mapped out. 

“No one has mapped out even a fraction of the universe. No one’s dared to. There’s so much more to discover. Are they scared of the fall? Because you can’t fall in space. There’s no gravity that’ll make you fall. You just … let go.”

Lance takes several deep breaths and looks over at Keith. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to start ranting, I just …” He doesn’t have words, but the biracial teen doesn’t seem bored. He doesn’t look like he’s annoyed that Lance has spoken for so long. He looks captivated. No one’s ever listened to Lance like this before. Even his mother will frown and eventually tell him that he has to notice when other people have stopped listening. She’ll squeeze his shoulder and it’ll tell him to stop before he goes on forever, without a soul listening. Because Lance never notices when he’s been talking too long, about something no one but him cares about, but Keith’s looking at him like he cares, like he’s heard every word Lance has said and more.

“Keep going,” he says, and the Cuban feels like he really means it. “I want to know more.”

Lance licks his lips, his mouth dry, his vocal chords sore all of a sudden. He can’t break eye contact with those indigo eyes, the colour of the night sky, so he swallows his words and keeps looking at the pale boy.

Keith is getting closer. So much closer. Lance can only do what he says you do in space. 

Let go.

His breath is on his lips. It’s sending sparks up his spine. Lance can barely breathe—

“LANCE!”

_CRASH!_

_Shit._

There may not be any gravity in space, but here on Earth, there is tons of it. And Keith has just fallen off the roof thanks to it.

_Gravity, thou art a bitch._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The uh, date went a bit … weird.”
> 
> “So weird you ended up in the _hospital_?”
> 
> “Not me. Keith. With a broken arm.”
> 
> Silence.
> 
> “Pidge? You still there?” Lance frowns. _Is that—_ “Oi, Pidge, stop laughing at me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess the movie they watch? Also, updates will be a bit slower because school is starting up again. Sorry. I don't speak Spanish, I did use Google Translate, and if any of you want to correct my Spanish, go ahead.

The ceiling is white. Too white. The air is thick with Purell, and other cleaning products, like a misophobic went through everything ten times and then decided eleventh time was the charm.

Keith rolls over onto his side to get more comfortable, and winces as a sharp pain shoots through his shoulder. 

He sits up too quickly and the world spins. It’s been blanketed with snow. He pulls his knees closer to himself to become smaller. The smaller the target, the lower the chance of getting hit. Looking left and right, there’s no one around him. 

_What happened?_

The door suddenly opens and in walks Lotor. He’s frowning.

_Well, at least that hasn’t changed._

“You were with him.”

“With who?”

“The pilot boy.”

Keith frowns. “His name is Lance.”

“I am well aware.” Lotor glares at Keith’s arm, as though it’s personally offended him. The half-Korean looks down and notices the cast for the first time. “And where has being with this ‘Lance’ gotten you?”

Keith wraps his arms around himself as best as he can, trying to manoeuvre around the cast. “It’s none of your business.”

“False. It’s entirely my business.”

“Since when do you care what I do?” 

“Since when have I not?”

“Ah.” Keith lies back in the uncomfortable hospital bed. The mattress is hard and the sheets feel confining. He wants to kick them off, watch them fall on Lotor’s head, make him look stupid. Knowing his luck though, they’d probably just get tangled in his legs and he’d fall off the bed. “This is about the company.”

Lotor’s brow furrows. “Keith—”

“Look, this is the first time this happened, and it’s not that big of a deal—”

“Once is enough. Stop seeing that boy.”

Keith clenches his jaw. “You’re not the boss of me. And I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to, I’m nineteen, I’m not some baby you can order around. I’m not _you_.”

Lotor’s eyes widen. “I … I do not understand.”

Keith’s indigo eyes narrow. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re always so prim and proper. You do _exactly_ what Zarkon tells you to do, without question. You’re his obedient little servant. If Zarkon told you to jump off a bridge, you’d probably ask him to choose which one. You may be one of the most successful employees of Galra Tech, but that’s because Zarkon handed it to you, and you’re his little lap dog. You don’t have a backbone. For how ferocious you are, you’ll do anything Zarkon tells you to.

“The only reason you don’t like Lance is because since I’ve met him, you can’t control me, so you hate it, don’t you? You hate Lance just because he knows how to have _fun_ —”

“YOU FELL OFF A ROOF!”

Keith is forced back by the strength of Lotor’s words. He’s never heard Lotor yell before, and it always made him creepier. Whenever he was mad, he always held his composure, but now his chest is heaving and a strand of his silvery hair is falling into his face. His eyes are wide and frantic.

“Lance McClain has taken you down dark alleyways. You have broken your superior’s windshield. You’re coming home at absurd times. You can’t stay awake in meetings. You think that falling from a three story building onto the hood of a beaten up Camero is _okay_. You are sitting in a hospital bed with a fractured arm, defending the man who put you here. _That_ is why I hate Lance McClain.”

Keith gapes. 

“You are becoming reckless, and idiotic, disregarding your own safety for the sake of what? A Cuban boy who does not know what he wants in his life, living just above the poverty line.”

Before Keith can process what Lotor has said (which, if it was anyone other than Lotor, Keith would call it _caring_ , but it’s _Lotor_ , so …), the door is kicked open by one Lance McClain.

“Yo, Keith, I gotta make this quick cause I have this nurse on my tail about how I’m like, not related to you and all that shit, but seriously, are you okay?”

Lotor turns spot where looms menacingly over Keith’s bed at a distance far enough away that he doesn’t have to “contaminate himself with lowly germs”, but close enough to make it difficult to breathe and glares at Lance. “I will take my leave now.” He brushes past the Cuban, pausing briefly to whisper in his ear. Lance’s entire posture seems to shrink by the time Lotor has left.

“Are you okay?”

The dark-skinned boy chuckles. It sounds empty. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Just a fracture, I can handle it,” says Keith off-handedly. “Was there something you wanted to tell me, that you came in and kicked down the fucking door like some badass in an action movie?”

“Excuse you, I _am_ a badass.” Lance takes a chair from the corner of the room and sits on it backwards. As much as he’s trying to play it off, Keith would have to be blind not to notice the tension in his shoulders. “So, Mamá liked you. A lot. And Carlos isn’t gonna make you pay for his car. He was a bit of an asshole anyway, so I think he deserved it. You put a pretty big dent in the hood.”

“I’m really sorry, I can pay for it—”

“You don’t have to—”

“But I _can_ pay for it,” Keith says. “Really. I want to.”

“I’m not going to let you,” Lance shoots back. “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you _should_.” He frowns. “Is it really just fractured? I thought you landed on your back, and then we’d have a Professor X thing going on here.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “As if I’d shave my head.”

Lance grins. It’s not as bright as usual.

“Listen, Keith, about this whole thing—”

“Stop.”

Lance nods. He goes to pull his chair back, but Keith reaches out quickly and stops him. With the wrong arm.

“ _Fuck_!”

“Shit, are you okay?” 

Keith winces, holding his arm to his chest. He breathes in deeply. A fractured arm is nothing to take lightly. He nods. “You can’t leave.”

Lance’s lips curve upwards into a wry smile. “Are you kidnapping me?”

“You have to stay, out of guilt or whatever, because you just made my condition worse.”

Lance laughs. It’s a little less tense. “I’d offer to pay the med bill, but I can’t exactly—”

“Pay me with company.” 

Keith watches Lance’s Adam’s apple bob. “Okay.”

“If you were thinking that you could just leave or whatever, like I’d be okay with you deciding we should stop hanging out, you’re totally crazy. Crazier than I thought you were, and that’s saying something.”

“You’re in a fucking _hospital bed_.”

“I’ll be more careful next time.”

“This isn’t about being careful,” says Lance, his voice much more serious than Keith is used to, “this is about basic self-preservation. You have terrible survival instincts.”

“You haven’t killed me yet.”

“I nearly did.”

“But you _didn’t_.” Keith rolls his eyes. “Come on, _chico_. Don’t tell me you’re gonna quit the first time I fuck up your brother’s car. I thought you were a badass?”

Lance’s blue eyes are filled with something Keith can’t name. “Who else is gonna teach me to swear in Spanish?”

“ _Cabron_ ,” he moans, tossing his head back but he’s grinning widely.

_Hook, line, and sinker._

“What was that dish your mom made? That thing with the chicken and the rice?”

“ _Arroz con pollo_ ,” Lance supplies.

“It was heavenly.”

“I’ll tell her you thought so.” Lance grins. “It’s this family recipe—”

“GET BACK HERE YOU PUNK!”

Lance jerks to attention. “So sorry to cut this short, but I did mention a nurse is coming to destroy me so I gotta get going! Get better soon Keith, cause you know I’m gonna have to make this up to you, right?”

Keith chuckles, unable to help himself.

He watches in amusement as a nurse comes into the room and chases Lance out, threatening to call his mother if he’s seen again outside of visiting hours. 

Some days, it’s like Lance is the only thing keeping Keith sane. He can’t give up that boy.

* * *

“Where’ve you been?”

“Out.”

Pidge scoffs. “I figured that’s why you’re not here right now. Let me rephrase that; are you coming back to the apartment tonight?”

Lance smirks. “Why, have you finally gotten some?”

Pidge gags. “Ugh, don’t even joke about that. Where are you right now?”

“Backing out of the hospital parking lot.”

“Did you break your neck or something? Why are you at the hospital?”

“ _Leaving_ the hospital, got kicked out by some damn nurse,” Lance corrects. “The uh, date went a bit … weird.”

“So weird you ended up in the _hospital_?”

“Not me. Keith. With a broken arm.”

Silence.

“Pidge? You still there?” Lance frowns. _Is that—_ “Oi, Pidge, stop laughing at me!”

“You have to admit, it’s kind of funny,” they say in between fits of laughter. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“No, he’s fine, he just uh … well, he fell off the roof.”

Lance can _hear_ Pidge rolling their eyes over the line. “So you’re not coming back tonight?”

“No, Keith’s staying at the local hospital. I can’t just leave him there.”

“Especially since you’re the reason he’s in there,” Pidge muses.

Lance can’t wait until the day comes that technology has advanced enough that he can reach through his shitty cellphone and punch Pidge directly in the face for their snarky comments. Knowing him and his financial situation, it’s more likely he’ll never afford the upgrade, but it’s nice to dream.

When he hangs up (after giving Hunk a stern warning to leave his NASA posters alone), Lance presses his head against the steering wheel and runs his fingers through his hair.

_Okay. Calm down._

This isn’t that big of a deal, aside from the fact that Keith is in _a fucking hospital bed_ because Lance was stupid and Keith said it wasn’t a good idea to climb up there, but of _course_ , Lance ignored him. And the problem isn’t even that it’s Keith’s fault for being a total klutz, the blame is entirely on Lance.

Loturd literally _just_ warned him to be careful around Keith, and now Keith’s got a broken arm. Lance decided to go “fuck it” in his face, and now he’s in the parking lot of the local hospital with nothing but regrets and guilt. _Is that what teen parents think?_ Lance would be a great dad, he’d be the best dad. Unless he got his kid stuck in the ER. Nah, Lance would probably be that kooky uncle the kids loved, but whose parents would grin and brace themselves through his visits.

Lance can barely keep _himself_ alive. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to handle Keith.

Lance, contrary to popular belief, knows when to cut his losses. 

And he _tried_ , but Keith just pulled him back in.

He has to be much more careful around Keith now. 

Putting his keys into the ignition, he shifts out of park, put it into drive, and hears the engine sputter and stop.

“Fuck …”

He’s a wreck. Why does Keith insist on keeping him around?

Lance takes a moment to breathe, when a face appears in his driver side window and he hits the horn out of surprise.

Isabella chuckles, her blue eyes shining. “You’re still _so_ easy to scare.”

He’s more exasperated than annoyed, it’s been a long night. “What do you want?”

“Oh, Squirt’s getting grumpy, is he?” she teases. “Listen, Julio and I can take you back. We’ll tow the car later.”

Lance wants to protest. He’s nineteen, he’s a capable human being. He pays his rent (in part), he goes to school, he’s getting a degree, which is more than he can say about some of his siblings. He has friends and a good social life, he had sex with fucking _Keith_ , a guy who broke his fucking scale of attractiveness. He has a job, and he gets paid fairly decently, and his grades are fair. He’s not a baby, he doesn’t need to be babied.

Isabella raises an eyebrow at him, at his half-open mouth, about to retort, at the state of his dingy car.

Lance feels like he’s seven, trying to make friends with the boy across the street by launching semi-destructive rockets into his backyard.

It feels like defeat when he gets out of the car and lets Isabella load him into her own car with her boyfriend, Julio. Lance takes a seat in the back and opens his phone. He wants to text Keith, but he doubts he can. Keith won’t respond, _can’t_ respond ( _because you broke his fucking arm, dipshit_ ), and he can already tell he’s about to get a lecture from Isa about responsibility.

“I don’t want to hear it—”

“That was Keith Galra, wasn’t it?”

Lance blinks. “What?”

“Your Keith is Keith Galra, the son of Zarkon Galra, president of Galra Technologies,” says Isabella as she turns the wheel. Julio lets her drive his monster of a Jeep, and Lance thinks that’s true love.

“He’s not _my_ Keith,” says Lance. He hopes he’s sitting low enough in the back that she can’t see him pouting. “Certainly not after the shit I just pulled.”

“I like him.”

Julio snickers. “You’re the main reason he fell off the roof.”

She punches him in the soulder. “Both hands on the wheel,” he teases.

Isabella gives him the Finger. “Listen, about tonight … I’m sorry we jumped on him. But he took it like a champ. He’s clearly not used to that much crowding. I think he thought Mamá was going to kill him. It takes a certain kind of crazy to handle you, you and I know both know that. Treat that boy well.”

“You can start by not letting him fall off roofs,” Julio snickers.

Lance sighs, lying on his back in the back of the Jeep. He knows it’s fun to poke at him for his stupid decisions, he’s used to it, he’s always done things without really thinking about them (see; Keith), and he’s accepted that he’s pretty good at fucking things up and then rolling with the consequences but he really likes Keith, and as much as he’s loathe to admit it, Lotor _is_ right. Lance really _isn't_ anything special. He’s an average student with average grades. The most remarkable thing about him is that his two best friends are geniuses.

“Yeah … I’ll start there.”

* * *

Lance enters Keith’s hospital room bearing a bouquet of flowers and it's really weirding Keith out. Mainly because he’s pretty sure flowers are a universal symbol of affection that he’s not even sure Lance has towards him, and he’s walking like he’s on thin ice, which he’s not, because Keith is pretty sure he cleared this up with him earlier. Lance puts the bouquet behind him, as though he’s being _sneaky_ about it. Keith doesn’t know who he’s trying to kid with it.

“Hi …”

_Lance acting_ ** _shy_** _…_ Keith rarely sees this. It’s freaking him the fuck out.

“Hey,” the half-Korean says. "You gonna come closer? I don’t bite.”

“My shoulder says otherwise.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, Lance seems to relax. He saunters over to Keith and takes a seat on his bed. He’s being pretty careless with that bouquet. “They’re letting you out like, tomorrow, right? I wanna take you out.”

Keith blinks.

“Take … take me out?”

“Yeah, out. You know, the opposite of in?”

Keith frowns. This sounds an awful lot like a date and he needs to clear this up now because he’s already pretty screwed. He’s sitting next to the boy who caused him to injure himself and get his dominant arm in a sling, and he doesn’t see a problem with that. And he has a problem with that. “Like … like are you asking me—”

“Out.” Lance frowns. “Unless you don’t want to? We could just stay in? But like, I don’t know how I feel about greasy hospital food. It’s shit. And like, even if where I want to take you is greasy, it’s not shit. The food, I mean. The greasiness factor is still the same, John Travolta may as well own the place.” He tilts his head. “Is that reference too out-dated?”

Keith tries to sit up without using his arms to help him push his body farther up in bed. The blankets feel weird like this. “I … okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll go out with you.”

Keith thinks he needs a warning when Lance smiles like that.

They keep talking, and Lance is waving that bouquet of flowers around. He’s very animated with his hands whenever he talks, and this time is no different. Any pretence of “hiding” the flowers is gone as he gestures wildly with each of his stories. He shakes so furiously, Keith is sure the petals are going to become a pile on the floor and the Cuban will be holding stems without much of anything on them. 

He listens as Lance goes on about a little adventure he had with his brother Hernando when he was nine, when the older one took him on a sudden road-trip without their Mamá’s permission. It’s a good story, full of funny twists and turns and Lance getting road-sick and barfing into a bag that they tried to throw out the window, but because the bag hadn’t been tied properly, the vomit had landed on Hernando’s face.

“It was _so_ funny, I started laughing and thought I was going to vomit _again_ because of it!”

Keith can’t draw his eyes away from the bouquet. He doesn’t know the type of flowers Lance is carrying around, because much like astronomy, not much more than the bare basics of flora were asked of him by his private tutor. 

It’s hard _not_ to think about who Lance is going to give the flowers to, because who could’ve caught his attention? Keith knows he had it temporarily, but that’s over now and he doesn’t expect Lance to try and “woo” him or anything. He made that obvious when he rejected Keith’s almost-kiss. 

Keith gulps. _You’re friends. You can ask friends stuff like this._ “Who are they for?”

Lance pauses, mid-sentence about how Hernando had done the whole trip without car insurance. “Who are what for?”

_Is his laugh … nervous?_

“The flowers.”

“What flowers?” His voice raises at the end. Keith wonders why Lance is playing dumb. 

“ _Those_ flowers,” Keith says, gesturing. “The ones that are going to make this place look like a wedding aisle with all the petals that are falling.”

“OH!” Lance jumps, as if he’s scared more than anyone by the Cuban’s sudden raise in volume. His hands stop moving, and he brings the flora closer to his face, inspecting them as if he’s never seen them before. “Um … actually, they’re for … they’re for—”

“Excuse me,” comes a nurse’s voice. “I need to speak with Mr. Galra?”

Keith frowns at the name.

Lance spins around at the woman’s voice. “You!” 

The nurse frowns. “I spoke to your mother yesterday, she said she would get a better handle on you—”

“Take these!” Lance practically screams at her, thrusting the flowers at the nurse. She’s confused and shocked, and soon Lance is letting go of his hold on the bouquet so she has no choice but to grab them.

Keith doesn’t know what he was expecting. 

The nurse is really pretty, he supposes. He doesn’t really think about girls like that. She has long hair that falls down her back in a waves, and her eyelashes are long. She has an accent when she speaks. Maybe Lance thinks it’s exotic? Keith can put on a fake accent, if that’s what Lance wants. It frightens him how much he’s willing to do for the Cuban’s attention.

So he supposes when Lance says he wants to “go out” he doesn’t mean it like _that_.

Keith’s okay with that.

His chest still hurts a little.

He’ll blame it on the hospital.

* * *

“You gave the flowers to the _nurse_?”

“I panicked?”

Isabella nearly falls off the bed laughing at him, which, Lance supposes is fair. It’s like he has two Pidges in his life. “I can’t believe this. You’re hopeless! You ask the boy out on a date, and then you give the fucking _nurse_ the flowers.”

“Keith can be super intimidating sometimes,” Lance tries to defend himself but he knows it sounds weak.

“You realize that boy is totally wrapped around your finger, right?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a pep talk after all this, I just need … I need to step up my game.”

“From what I hear, you’ve already gotten him to sleep with you, which, by the way, is way more than I wanted to know about your sex life.” She sticks out her tongue playfully. “I’d say he’s pretty interested.”

“I mean, I think so too. Sometimes. And then other times it’s like … we’re really close platonic friends? I don’t know. There’s … we never really spoke about what we were, so … I don’t know. It’s up in the air.”

“Then bring it down.”

“What if we crash?”

“You _always_ crash, Lance,” Isabella points out. 

“Thanks …”

“Hey.” She sits up on his bed and crosses her legs. She’s in “serious mode”. “I’m not saying you’re gonna bomb the whole thing. You know yourself pretty well, and you can’t expect the whole thing to go smoothly, but you do what all airplanes do. Prepare for emergencies. Prepare so that when the crash comes, you’re ready for it and everyone gets out alive. And happy.”

Lance sighs. 

He knows she’s right, because obviously, duh she is. But at the same time, that she assumes they’re going to crash, that they’re headed for disaster leaves a bad feeling in his stomach. Just because it’s _true_ , doesn’t mean he likes to hear it. He really likes Keith, like, really, really, _really_ likes Keith. To a stupid degree. Such a stupid degree that he’s staring at his closet, trying to find non-ripped jeans to wear because everything else in his closet is sweatpants. 

Isabella insists that wearing his ripped jeans give him a cool, bad boy look, but he still goes for his least-ripped pair, and puts on a blue flannel that she says brings out his eyes. He thinks his sneakers are too large and clunky, but she says they’re very boyish of him, and they suit him perfectly. 

“I don’t know …”

“You look bangin’,” Isabella says, adjusting the open flannel. “It certainly beats your baseball shirts.”

“I was wearing one of those when I met him.”

“You managed to get the heir of the Galra Tech Empire to fuck you when you were wearing a plain baseball T?” Isabella snorts. “That boy is _so_ gone on you.”

Lance fidgets with the sleeves of the flannel so much that Isabella rolls them up so they rest at his elbows. (“No shame in showing your forearms, this isn’t the 1800s,” Isabella tells him when he protests. It’s not her fault she doesn’t know how he feels about his forearms.) She tells him to comb his hair, and he does. He’s just not sure whether or not it makes much of a difference.

**You going to pick me up?** (11:43)

“Shit.”

“What’s the matter?” Isabella asks. “Did you forget cologne?”

“No, it’s … he wants me to pick him up? But like, you know my car, it’s just a total mess and—”

Isabella throws him a pair of keys.

He fumbles, nearly dropping them. When his fingers firmly wrap around the metallic key, he freezes. “ _Holy shit_.”

“Don’t dent it.”

Lance grins. 

He opens his mouth. He wants to say thank you. He wants to say she’s a great older sister. He wants to say that he’s really sorry he’s going to be taking her fancy-ass car to some place as dingy as Shada’s Diner. He wants to kiss her on the cheek and thank her a million times—

“I—”

“Go get ‘em.”

Lance rushes out the door, hurriedly sending a quick: _b there in 20_ (11:45)

* * *

When Lance pulls up in a car that is most certainly _not_ his own, Keith stares.

It’s a big car, a nice car. It’s a fucking Volvo. It’s silver and shiny and kind of reminds Keith of that vampire’s car from that terrible movie franchise. It was a nice car on screen. It’s a nicer car in person. 

Keith misses the buggy though.

He gets in and the car doesn’t shake, there’s no groan of the engine. It glides nicely. Lance still sucks at driving, which is comforting because otherwise he looks completely different.

Keith feels stupid, sitting in the passenger seat with a fucking _cast on his arm_.

They roll into the parking lot of a run-down dinner and Keith grins. This feels more like Lance.

Lance runs around the side of the car and opens the door for him.

Keith closes it in his face. He ignores how awkward it feels to do it with the wrong arm. 

Lance raises an eyebrow at him from the other side of the window. “The fuck was that for?” he demands.

Keith opens the door himself. “I told you, I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“You just shut the door which I kindly, out of the goodness of my heart, opened for you, a temporarily handicapped person, just to prove a point?” Lance shakes his head but he’s grinning wildly, like Keith couldn’t have chosen a better thing to do. 

“C’mon, _Abula_ will want to meet you.”

“ _Abula_?” Keith repeats. The word sounds weird off his tongue and it rolls off weirdly. The syllables don’t sound right, he can’t mimic Lance’s accent perfectly. “Doesn’t that mean grandma?”

“You’re at Dora levels of Spanish, aren’t you?”

“Pretty much.”

“She’s not my actual _abula_ ,” says Lance as he guides Keith into the diner. “She just likes to be called that. Everyone who goes here is family. She’s probably going to give me a licking, it’s the first time I’ve visited since college,” Lance admits as the bell above the door chimes softly as they enter.

There’s a large woman standing in the centre of the diner, with her hands on her hips, wearing a large apron that says “Kiss the Chef” on it. Around her people are running in circles, looking after each other, handing out orders. Keith almost gets knocked over. It feels like the McClain house all over again.

_“Oh, mira quién decidió aparecer!”_

_“Lo siento, Abula,”_ says Lance in response.

Keith has no idea what’s happening.

He’s sure he looks like a lost puppy and that’s why Lance clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, _Abula_ , he doesn’t know Spanish.”

The woman’s eyes widen and she begins apologizing in Spanish, before suddenly changing to English. Her words are thick with an accent. The words don’t roll off her tongue properly, which, Keith can’t blame her for it, it’s clearly her second language. 

“How do you call yourself?”

“I’m uh, I’m Keith,” says the half-Korean. 

“Keith,” she echoes. His own name sounds foreign to him. “You friend of Lance, yes?”

“Yeah— I mean, yes, ma’am.”

The woman laughs. It’s hearty and wonderful. Keith feels warm. “No need. Friends of Lance welcome here. Very much. _¿Él es tu novio?_ ”

Lance’s ears begin to turn red. “ _Tal vez …_ ”

They suddenly launch into a conversation in Spanish that Keith can barely keep track of. He doesn’t catch any words, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out that she’s embarrassing him and Spanish is one of the most passionate languages Keith has ever heard. No words can be said softly, there’s always a little force behind each one, a certain punctuation and it’s all about enunciation and emphasis.

“So we’ll take the usual table?” says Lance hurriedly after a few minutes of rapid-fire Spanish.

The woman guides them to a table near the window and Lance slides into a booth. Keith slides into the opposite side and is careful of his hand. He hasn’t thought so far ahead as to how he’s going to eat. This could become problematic for him.

“What do you want?” Lance doesn’t even open his menu. He must know the place really well.

“What do you recommend?”

“Shrimp empanadas are always good.”

“Sure, I’ll have that.”

As they wait for their food, Lance starts to play with the straws at the table. He opens the small paper wrapping it comes in on one side, blowing into the straw. The rest of the paper flies off. It lands in Keith’s face.

“You got a little something—”

_SPLASH!_

Keith regrets trying to throw his water on Lance. With his non-dominant hand, the water goes everywhere with no clear direction. Most of it lands on himself, there’s an ice cube making its way down his pants. It’s not pleasant. 

Lance covers his mouth to stifle his laughter, but it’s escaping him and it’s so loud, it’s almost like he’s wheezing.

_Abula_ comes over with a platter of what Keith can only assume are shrimp empanadas, and sets them on the table. “You wet. Why? Lance mean to you?”

Keith shakes his head. He can feel himself heating up. 

“He did it to himself,” says Lance, snorting. It shouldn’t be nearly as attractive as Keith finds it.

“Treat  _novio_ better.”

Lance rolls his eyes and takes an empanada from the plate. “Want me to feed you? I’ll be _super_ gentle.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’m not useless, I can eat on my own.” He grabs an empanada between his fingers and almost instantly drops it. “Fuck, that’s hot!”

“Yes, you are.”

The nineteen year old heir is sure his eyes are going to get stuck inside his head permanently. 

“ _Now_ are you going to let me feed you?”

“Whatever.”

Lance licks the taste off his fingers from his empanada. Keith really wants a taste, they look _so_ good. He sighs, his mouth open as he waits.

Lance laughs. “You want me to feed you like that? You look like you’re trying to make a black hole with your lips!”

Keith shuts his mouth firmly and grinds his teeth. “Are you going to feed me or not?”

“Right, right!” Lance takes another empanada in his fingers between his index and thumb, a sly grin on his face. “Here comes the choo choo train, Keith. Open wide—”

“ARE YOU TRYING TO BURN MY FACE?”

Lance frowns. “You have a little bit …” He gestures with his hand. Keith knows. He can feel the hot food on the corner of his mouth, probably giving him third degree burns. “This wouldn’t happen if you just opened your mouth.”

“Don’t treat me like a child,” Keith huffs.

“But I mean, you can’t eat your own food, and you got it all over your face. Should I get you a bib?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I take what I can get,” Lance chuckles. “Look, all kidding aside, how about I just cut it for you? And then you can eat it with a fork, like a true rich person does, and then you can blow on it.”

“Still sounds like you’re teasing me.”

“I’ll _always_ tease you,” Lance promises. “But I can’t do that if you die before your twentieth birthday, so suck it up, buttercup!”

Keith feels stupid as Lance cuts his food. He hums under his breath as he does it, like he’s done this a million times before. With the amount of people in his family, Keith finds it hard to imagine that Lance doesn’t play babysitter a lot. He pushes the plate over to Keith, who takes a fork and stabs the food aggressively.

“It never did anything to you!”

“Tell that to my cheek!”

It happens so quickly, Keith doesn’t register it until after it’s over.

In one swift move, Lance raises from his seat from across the table and kisses Keith’s cheek. He’s back in his own spot as quickly as he left it. 

“There you go.”

“What was that?”

“I kissed it better. Home remedies always work best.”

He’s way too casual about these types of things and it’s making Keith’s head spin. He can’t say he dislikes it, but at the same time, a clear line in the sand concerning where he and Lance stand would be nice. Of course, he can’t dare to think that a question like “when you look at me, do you think I’m cute like I’m your little brother, or do you think I’d be someone you’d very much like to fuck senseless?” is one he can pass off as casual. 

Keith just needs to know where he stands with Lance. 

And then Lance turns to him with that playful smirk on his face. “Is it working?”

“Is what working?”

“My plan to seduce you.”

_Ah yes. Definitely a joke._

* * *

Lance’s heart is beating a thousand miles a minute, no, a _second._ He hopes Keith can’t tell.

He’s sweating all the liquids out of his body and he’s sure that it shows. He tries to keep it calm anyway. The air feels suffocating to him, like he can’t breathe, like he has no hope of getting oxygen to his lungs, as though his blood’s circulation will stop any second now.

Keith’s eyes flicker with something. Lance can’t tell you what it is. His eyes are drawing him in though, with their unique colour and his heart is tripping over itself and he thinks he’s going to barf. He is totally going to barf.

He’s taking way too long to answer and then—

“No.”

Well. That’s that then.

It makes sense of course. Keith’s been seduced by way better people, more impressive people, people who don’t have to borrow their sister’s car if they want to look impressive. People who have _money,_ never mind wealth equal to Keith’s. Lance is in over his head, he knows that, he knew that going in.

While he had prepared himself for this result, he realizes in this instance to his horror, he still _hoped_ for something else.

That misguided hope deflates like a balloon in his chest, while Keith continues to eat.

_Right, focus now, sulk later._

It doesn’t matter that much. Lance knows that Keith is amazing. Keith is going to find someone amazing. Someone who matches his level of intellect and his skills and they’re going to be the luckiest bastard in the entire Goddamn world.

Lance blinks and washes away the feelings of inadequacy.

This is fine.

And he means it.

Keith’s friendship is not a consolation prize to him in any manner. Keith is an amazing friend. He’s the type of friend that Lance can see himself falling in love with, but equally remaining friends with. This would be a hell of a lot easier if he had made this realization a bit earlier, but what can you do?

Lance won’t make this awkward. He can’t afford that. He can’t afford losing _Keith_.

It takes until Keith breaks his heart that Lance realizes he had it.

With that realization, Lance locks it away. He’ll ignore it. It’s fine.

The rest of the meal is tense, but Lance is grateful that Keith acts as though nothing’s happened. It’s not as if Keith _knows_ that Lance is giving himself until the end of the meal to get himself together and figure out how he’s going proceed. He just has to pretend this moment never happened. Yeah, he can do that. Easy.

Lance is really good at ignoring things.

Keith might be the hardest thing to ignore, but he’ll survive. 

He has to.

* * *

Keith sees the look on Lance’s face the moment he lies.

_No, stop. Don’t look at me like that. I take it back. I take everything back. Christ, you’re so good at this, at winning me over, at making me fall, I swear, I—_

And then the expression is gone as quickly as it came.

He supposes this really is fine.

Okay.

Well, it isn’t like he didn’t know this was what would happen.

He’s fine.

* * *

Lance really _is_ fine, no matter what his parents say, but when Keith calls him up a week later asking him why they haven’t hung out in a while, Lance realizes how _weak_ he is.

To be normal, to be natural, like he’s been set on being, he has to take Keith out. 

So they go to a movie.

A drive-in movie.

It’s terrible.

“What is happening?” asks Keith, tilting his head to the side, adorably confused.

_No, bad Lance. Don’t think like that. He doesn’t like you._

“I’m … not sure?” Lance replies. “The sound quality is unbalanced? I don’t … what’s happening? Did they even look at the footage before they released this?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “This is a crap movie.”

“Ah. Well, they can’t all be winners.”

“But I mean, do they even know how to act?”

Lance turns to Keith, then glances back at the screen. He can’t in good conscience spend the entire shitty movie watching Keith, that’d be creepy and stalker-like behaviour. It doesn’t look like Keith is all into the movie either. 

“Talk to me.”

“But the movie—”

“Is terrible, and I’d very much like to bleach out my eyes. So how about you talk to me about something that won’t make me hate myself for putting you through this torture?” The Cuban cuts him off. “What about … talk to me about the Elevator Guy.”

“You mean Shiro?”

“Yeah. He seems cool.”

“He is.”

Lance snorts. “Wow. You should write a book.”

Keith smacks him in the shoulder playfully and Lance ignores the way his skin seems to burn when he touches him. He takes the moment he lets himself waver and hit the side of the small car to regain his composure. “Tell me about him. I’m curious about your life, Keith Galra.”

“I’m not …” Keith grits his teeth. “I’m not a Galra.”

“But you’re Zarkon’s son, aren’t you?”

“On paper, yeah. But I mean, I don’t, I use my actual name for all transactions,” Keith explains. “I uh, my last name is Kogane. Galra has … it has so much _weight_ , you know? So much pressure. And I don’t like that. I can’t handle that weight. So I don’t use it.”

“That’s fair,” says Lance, though he can’t pretend he really understands anything Keith says. “So by on paper, you mean you’re adopted?”

The brunet sucks in a deep breath, as though bracing himself. “Yeah,” he forces out.

Lance frowns. “Why are you so tense?”

“I just … I’m adopted so I guess … I mean …” Keith is searching for words, so Lance makes sure to be quiet. He pulls down the vizor in front of Keith, blocking the atrocity that is the movie and unbuckles his seatbelt. He positions himself so they can speak face to face and waits. 

“I … I’m not _normal_ , I guess? And I kind of hate that? And not abnormal like I’ve got way too much money for a person my age. I just … I say I’m adopted and then everyone is like, oh, that makes sense. You’re nothing like Zarkon, or Lotor. And then they look at me like, like they feel bad. Like, I’m … _defective_ or something.”

Lance snorts. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You think I’d like you if you were anything like Zarkon? Or Loturd? So you’re adopted. Big deal. That doesn’t mean anything. It’s just another fact about you, like you have really bad taste in pizza. Doesn’t change a thing.”

“I just … I remember, when I was in school, this kid, he found out. I mean, it’s not that hard to figure, I’m not anything like the rest of the Galra. But he found out and he looked at me and he asked me … he asked me ‘why didn’t they want you?’.”

“That little shit …”

“And I just … I don’t know them, I don’t know who my parents were. They asked me if there was something wrong with me, as if my parents looked at me one day and decided I wasn’t worth it, as if I was messed up somehow, was crippled or whatever, and that’s why my parents didn’t care about me. Like it was _my_ fault that I was adopted. Like I had driven my parents away, by being myself, I had repulsed them into leaving me and … and what if they’re right?”

“Hey no,” says the Cuban gently. “Listen, listen, Keith. I … I don’t know where you’re coming from. I have a big family, you’ve seen them, they’re huge. I can’t tell you that I know what it’s like to be adopted, or … or whatever, but that doesn’t … as a baby, you can’t, you _can’t_ be a reason for being given to someone else.

“I don’t know who your birth parents were, but I’m sure they had a reason. Unplanned pregnancy, being unable to provide. Maybe they have felt like they _had_ to. There are so many reasons people give away children. Most of the time, the reason is something like they just weren’t ready to take care of a kid, and wanted to give the kid the best chance they could. Knowing they couldn’t give it to them, they offered them to someone who _could_. Most of the time, the reasons for putting someone up for adoption is for the sake of the _child_.” Lance bites his lip. “I just … I can’t imagine someone looking at you and _not_ wanting you, Keith. It can’t have been because of you.”

Keith’s looking at Lance and Lance is _weak_ as hell when his eyes are like that, when he smiles shyly like that. His lips quirk up just slightly to the side, and Lance feels a nervous chuckle escape his lips.

“Lance …”

He’s never liked the sound of his own name so much before.

Leaning over the gearstick, the Cuban supports himself as best as he can on his forearm as he makes his way closer to Keith.

_“Is it working?”_

Lance would love to tell you that in the dim lighting, every one of Keith’s features are sharp to him because that’d be nice to say, that he’s so in-tune with Keith that he knows where each of his long eyelashes are, but he can’t, cause that’d be lying and Mamá says lying is wrong. Lance is pretty sure he’s never paid any attention to Keith’s eyelashes before. He can’t say there’s an invisible, magnetic force that’s pulling him forward, to him. Because there isn’t one. He’s moving of his own free will, because he _wants_ this.

_“Is what working?”_

Closer. They’re getting even closer, and the terrible noise of the movie doesn’t disappear, the world doesn’t stop, he can still hear the terrible soundtrack of birds attacking the city. He can feel Keith’s breath on his face and it doesn’t smell amazing, maybe Keith should brush his teeth again, and Lance is pretty sure he’s the same because he’s been sucking on a mint he stole from his neighbour’s _quinceañera_ and it’s probably several years old. He found it in his pocket while he was fidgeting and it’s stale in his mouth and it knocks against his teeth weirdly and he’s sure it’s expired. Can mints expire?

_“My plan to seduce you.”_

His brain does not shut off. It’s going into hyperdrive. He’s never been more aware of things; the feeling of the seat underneath him, the coolness of the night, the way the vizor might just knock him in the head. 

Keith’s answer to his question doesn’t matter, not right now, not when he’s pretty sure they’re on the same wavelength and they both _want this_ , because he can’t be imagining the look on Keith’s face—

“FUCK!”

Several things happen at once.

1: Lance leans forward as Keith does, causing their skulls to connect.

2: Keith recoils back with a wince.

3: Panicking, and wanting to avoid Keith’s sudden retreat, Lance reaches forward to bring him back, grabbing his arm. The _wrong_ arm.

4: Keith screams, letting out the aforementioned _fuck_.

5: Lance moves away quickly, apologizing profusely and accidentally setting the car into reverse..

6: With his body’s tendency to tense up and drop whatever he’s doing when he goes into Panic Mode, his foot lifts off the break.

7: They reverse into some other person’s car, setting off their alarm.

In short, Lance and Keith are no longer welcome to drive-in movie nights.

* * *

After Lance drops Keith off at his house, he waits until the door is closed to slam his head on the wheel, the way he’s seen many main characters do in sitcoms and romcoms and every other movie cliché ever. His forehead hurts when it connects with the wheel, and he wonders why he thought it was a good idea.

Furthermore, it sets off the horn.

Keith opens the door again to see Lance sitting in his car, looking like a complete disaster.

Ah, now this really _is_ a romcom.

Lance gets the fuck out of there before he can be questioned.

He said no.

It didn’t matter that the atmosphere from every fucking cheesy movie that’s ever existed clearly says that they were supposed to kiss, Keith said no, and Lance has to respect that.

He can do that.

Christ, he doesn’t want to, but he’ll do it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Friends don’t buy friends phones.”
> 
> “They do if their friend’s a total idiot who tried to text them using their tongue because they were too busy dangling from a fucking tree branch to use their hands like any other _normal_ person.”
> 
> Lance blinks. For a moment, Keith thinks he’s going to argue with him, tell him to take his money and shove it up his ass, but then the Cuban tilts his head and says, “Is this what it’s like to have a Sugar Daddy?”

_oussixe_ (23:43)

Keith frowns. During the month it’s taken his arm to heal, he and Lance have been texting back and forth constantly. It always takes Keith longer to reply, using his non-dominant hand that he’s started to pick up Lance’s shorthand. It makes things easier, and autocorrect does come in handy when he’s trying to write those big words like “transmutation” (it’s a conversation about whether or not alchemy is a glorified chemistry), but it’s a real pain when Keith decides to be smart and tell Lance he isn’t done masturbating (Lance sends him “ _u sly dog ;)_ ”, and Keith has to quickly write “ **MASTICATE, I MEANT MASTICATE** ” while Shiro laughs at him as he sinks into his cereal and turns the same colour as the Captain Crunch box. Sometimes Lance doesn’t even send him words, just pictures of the squirrel he saw on his way to school, or an article about Japanese sex robots. Still though, this is weird for Lance.

 _wifow_ (23:43)

 **Are you having a stroke?** (23:44)

 _ppene_ (23:44)

 _cod_ (23:44)

It’ll be another hour at least before Zarkon and Lotor get back from whatever business meeting they’re having, and Shiro seems to like the pilot student enough, so Keith dials Lance’s number.

It rings twice before Lance picks up and Keith thinks he hears the _Tetris_ theme music playing, but he might be imagining it because there’s a crazy storm outside and sometimes thunder might sound like the Russian game. 

“Hey, you alright?” Keith asks.

There’s heavy breathing on the other line, and the definite sound of rain. He can’t tell if the strange, watery sounds he’s getting are because of a bad connection, but it feels like some kind of ASMR video. 

“Lance?”

There’s a hum that he barely hears above the thunder.

“You there?”

There’s a weird sound that doesn’t make any sense, like metal clinging against something else, and then something slobbery. 

“Are you _licking your phone_?”

There’s a laugh that starts off close, but then gets farther and farther away. The rustling of leaves, and rain beating down heavily. 

“ _Shit_.”

That sounds way too close.

A flash of lighting spreads across Keith’s closed curtains and he can see a silhouette outside.

_He’s not that stupid, is he?_

Keith pulls back the curtain.

There is Lance McClain, in all his Cuban glory, hanging onto a tree-branch like a sloth, upside down, soaked to the bone. His clothes are plastered to his body, and his fingers are trembling from the cold. He gives Keith a small smile. He’s saying something, but Keith can’t quite hear him above the thunder.

Keith opens his window and frowns.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Just hanging?”

Keith can’t help cracking a smile at the terrible joke.

“Hey, you’ve healed!” says the dark skinned boy, a smile spreading across his face. “S’wsome. Could you uh, give me a hand? It’s freezing out here and I think the blood is rushing to my head. Unless you really want to do a Toby McGuire-esque kissing in the rain scene—”

“Get your ass inside!”

Lance scampers along the branch, reminding Keith strongly of a cat, and then he’s in his room, nearly knocking over his lamp and shaking his head like he’s a wet dog. His shoes squeak against the floor, and he’s flushed, a byproduct of hanging upside down for who knows how long and Keith hasn’t seen him in a long time because Lotor’s basically put him on lockdown.

All the rules he’s set up in his mind to stop himself from getting hurt, from expecting more out of Lance than he’s willing to give, evaporate into thin air and he’s wrapping his arms tightly around the boy, pulling him close.

“Oof! Uh, quite the greeting, huh?”

Keith blushes. “Sorry—”

“Hey, I didn’t say stop,” Lance says, stopping him from pulling away. “I’m all for hugs. I’m like the Hug Master, you don’t even know how good my hugs are.” 

Keith tries not to sink into the feeling of his hugs, but it’s hard. Lance really is good at hugs and it’s not fair, not to Keith who likes him an unfair amount and that botched almost-kiss at the drive-in movie has been going through Keith’s head a million times, but he can’t make himself stop. He knows that in truth, he’s just flailing like an idiot, using his entire body as a parachute as he heads to the ground at a rate that must be harder than just 9.8 m/s.

“You dropped your phone, didn’t you?”

Lance tenses. “Uh, yeah.”

“Can you afford a new one?”

“I don’t think I broke it,” says Lance. “I mean, it’s dealt with worse. I’ve got electrical tape.”

“I’ve seen your phone. It’s totally broken,” says the Galra heir.

“But—”

“Trust me. It is.”

Lance sighs and pulls away from Keith. The billionaire clamps down on the urge to reach out for him again. “I won’t be able to afford a new one for another like, six months, and that’s if I work like, over a hundred hours a week, and I can’t do that. I need to study, I—”

“I’ll buy you one.”

Lance balks. “What?”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“You can’t.”

“I can and I will. I’ve got the money, you don’t,” Keith says. “Think of it as a friend helping a friend.”

“Friends don’t buy friends phones.”

“They do if their friend’s a total idiot who tried to text them using their tongue because they were too busy dangling from a fucking tree branch to use their hands like any other _normal_ person.”

Lance blinks. For a moment, Keith thinks he’s going to argue with him, tell him to take his money and shove it up his ass, but then the Cuban tilts his head and says, “Is this what it’s like to have a Sugar Daddy?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Hardly. How about you take a shower?”

“I can?” Lance is fiddling with his thumbs, which is weird because Keith knows from experience that Lance likes to touch things. Especially when he’s unfamiliar with them. It’s like the room he’s in is a petting zoo. He runs his fingers along everything and sometimes drops them. 

“Yeah, I’ll lay out some of my clothes for you to change into.”

Keith shakes away the fantasies that come with Lance dressed in his clothes and guides him into the ensuite bathroom.

“Holy shit!”

Keith has had several years to get used to it, but he supposes the bathroom _is_ impressive. It’s got a giant Jacuzzi, a large shower that can probably fit three people (Keith’s never tried), and mirrors everywhere, large and bright. 

Lance giggles. “My voice is echoing!” He runs to the edge of the bath and looks over. “You could drown in this thing, it’s so deep!”

The violet eyed teen rolls his eyes. “Sure, give it a shot. I’m going to get you some clothes for when you get out.”

“Are you really sure?”

Keith frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean … am I really allowed here?”

“It’s _my_ bathroom. If I’m literally telling you to freshen up in my bathroom, I think that’s as much permission as you need.”

“I meant Zarkon,” says the Cuban. “I don’t want you to get into trouble, and I mean, I know Lotor doesn’t like me. Is it really okay that I’m here?”

Keith reaches out and brushes away a loose strand of Lance’s hair. It feels great to use both his arms again. “Lance McClain, get in the fucking tub.”

Lance laughs, but it sounds nervous. “Wanna join me?”

 _Why does he have to make it so fucking easy?_ Keith shakes his head. “I’ve got … I got stuff I need to do, it’s uh—”

“Hey, no problem.”

Before Keith can even start to leave, Lance starts stripping. Keith has to force his eyes away and nearly trips over himself as he rushes out the door. He makes it into the hallway before he dares to let himself breathe again.

“Keith?”

His back hits the door a little too hard. Shiro is giving him a really weird look.

“Something up?”

“No.”

“Your voice just raised an octave.”

“Did it?”

“It did.”

Keith laughs. It sounds like he’s on helium. “You know, puberty and all that shit.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Are you hiding something from me?”

“What? Me? Hide something from you?”

“YO KEITH! WHERE’S THE SHAMPOO— NEVER MIND!”

The shit-eating grin that spreads across Shiro’s face is concerning. “Pilot Boy snuck in, did he?”

Keith winces. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Shiro laughs. “As if I’d tell! I wanna talk to him—”

“Please don’t ruin this for me,” Keith cuts in. “I … he doesn’t like me _like that_ , so can you not talk about that? He doesn’t know that I … that I feel like _that_. I want to keep it that way. What we have … it’s really good the way it is and I don’t … I don’t want to ruin that.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “I doubt that, but fine. Why don’t you get him those towels?”

Keith nods. He needs some time to return his face to its usual colour and this’ll be a good time to clear his head.

* * *

Shiro pushes the bathroom door open and hears Pilot Boy singing _Hit Me Baby One More Time_. He has to stifle his laughter as he crosses the tiled floor and shuts the door quietly behind him. He sits at the edge of the bath and waits until the boy turns around mid-lyric and freezes.

“THE FU— mph?”

Shiro presses a finger to his lips, telling him to be quieter. 

“LANCE?” comes Keith’s voice. He sounds so worried, it’s adorable. 

“Tell him you’re fine,” Shiro directs. “Say you saw a spider.”

“Are you kidnapping me?”

Shiro chuckles. “Just tell him that.”

“LANCE?”

“I’M FINE!” Well. There goes Shiro’s ears. “THOUGHT I SAW A BUG. IT’S ALL GOOD!”

The boy is collecting the bubbles around himself, and sinking lower into the basin. His dark skinned face is getting darker. “You’re uh, you’re Elevator Guy.”

“You’re Sombrero Dude.”

“I have a name.”

“It’s Lance,” Shiro says with a nod. “I’m Shiro, Keith’s older brother. But I think you figured that out?”

Lance nods. His hair sticks to his forehead, almost covering his eyes. His attempt to pull the bubbles around him as a makeshift blanket is causing them to disappear more. Shiro finds it rather amusing. “I uh … this is a weird time to do formal introductions. I’d shake your hand but …” Lance looks down.

“No, that’s fine,” Shiro says. “I—”

“Are you going to tell me to stop seeing Keith?”

There’s fear spreading across the boy’s face, true, honest fear, like he thinks Shiro is going to take Keith away, that he’ll tell Keith that Lance is bad for him and Keith’ll actually listen. He doesn’t have a reason to worry, but even if Shiro did tell Keith not to see Lance, he doubts he’d listen anyway. 

“No, nothing like that. Did Lotor get to you?”

“Loturd?”

Shiro has to bite his lower lip to stop himself from laughing. “I don’t want to talk about Keith. I could give you the lecture about how, if you hurt him, I’ll break all your bones and then some, and blah blah blah, don’t touch my baby bro. Keith’s brought up his black belt to you at least once already, yeah? You know he can kick your ass just fine if you hurt him. Though I _am_ back up. I know Judo.”

The Cuban squeaks.

“I want to hear about _you_ , Lance. Tell me about yourself.”

“Am I being interrogated? Because you’ve got me in a bit of a bind right now,” says the Cuban, his eyes going up and down his body. “And I don’t know how long the bubbles’ll last. Or when I’ll become a prune.”

“Nothing like that,” Shiro assures. “How about you tell me what you want me to know about yourself? I’m not Lotor, I’m not going to do a whole background search on your ass, or probe you. Tell me what you want to tell me. 

“I don’t need you to tell me all the reasons you’d be great for Keith, or bad for Keith. I don’t want to know about Keith, I want to know about _you_.”

“I uh, I broke my arm when I was in eighth grade,” says Lance. “Fell out of tree trying to get Milo’s cat back. The neighbour’s dog chased it up the oak in the backyard.” He shuts his eyes tightly. “That was … so stupid. Okay wait, I can do better than that.”

Shiro grins. “No, I like this. Keep going.”

“Um, I can skip double dutch? And I’m killer at hacky-sack. I like _Marvel_ better than _DC_ , Superman is over-rated. The Joker has totally hate-fucked Batman though. I’ve never played baseball, but I own a lot of baseball shirts. Don’t know why, probably cause they’re hand-me-downs and Alejandro played baseball a lot. My mother’s second on my speed dial, to a pizza joint. Oh! I sometimes like to think about Magneto and Professor X having kinky mind sex. I feel like I’m at confession right now. What else am I supposed to tell you? I’m _literally naked right now_ , am I supposed to tell you about my blood type and my secret plan to steal the crepe recipe from the chocolate place downtown?”

Shiro’s decided. “I like you.”

“Uh, thanks? Can you uh, can I have a towel?”

Shiro stands up and dusts off his hands. “Keith’s coming around soon with the towels. I’ll leave you two be. You pass.”

“Wait, I thought this wasn’t a test!”

“It wasn’t,” Shiro says. “But you can’t mention it to Keith. He’ll probably kill me for it.”

“Wait!”

Shiro stops, hand over the doorknob.

“You can’t just force a confession out of me like some sort of weird-ass Pope and not tell me your Goddamn name. That ain’t fair, _hermano_.”

The middlest Galra shakes his head. “Shiro. Now I really gotta go before—”

“Shiro, what did I tell you?”

Shiro comes face to face with Keith who is standing with a large pile of towels, frowning. The boy could probably use some help with that, he’ll get wrinkles otherwise. The older slips past the biracial teen and runs quickly, hoping to get away as quickly as possible.

He doesn’t know what Keith’s talking about.

Pilot Boy is smitten as fuck.

* * *

“Sorry about him,” says Keith and Lance has to take a moment to collect himself. 

“Oh, him? He wasn’t that much of a bother.” He hopes he’s not acting like an idiot. Who is he kidding? He probably is. 

“So I got some clothes for you waiting outside.”

“You sure they’re gonna fit me?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

Lance shrugs. “You’re a bit shorter than me.”

“Are you really going to hold my height against me?”

“I’ll hold whatever I can against you,” says Lance with a grin. He wonders if he should really be flirting with Keith while in a bathtub, naked. Maybe he should back off. He coughs into his fist. “So, those clothes?”

Keith is avoiding his eyes. Great, now Lance has made him uncomfortable. “Right. I’ll just … I’ll wait in the hallway till you’re changed.”

“It’s not like you haven’t seen it before,” says Lance, rolling his eyes.

“I—”

“Or is that too weird?” Lance frowns. “Yeah, okay. You know what? Just, bring them in here, and you can wait in your room. I’d feel weird kicking you out of your own room—”

“It’s no bother to me—”

“Well, it’s a bother to me. Bring your clothes in and I’ll change in here,” says Lance. He eyes the towels Keith is holding. “So … you going to give those to me? Or would you rather I dance in my birthday suit for a bit before I put on your drags?” It’s not fair to call Keith’s clothes drags, they’re probably made of silk or some other kind of expensive shit.

“Right!” Keith practically throws the neat pile of towels at Lance, who fumbles and catches two before the rest fall in front of the bathtub. He turns away from Keith and wraps the towel around his waist. It’s soft and fluffy against his skin. He might just be addicted to Keith’s towels now.

Keith rushes out of the room and throws the clothes into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him. 

Lance frowns.

Has he really made Keith so uncomfortable?

He walks, careful of the puddles his body creates. He frowns. Should he put on his own underwear? It’d be weird to wear Keith’s underwear, right? Yeah, that’d be weird. But Lance’s underwear is all wet and gross and yeah no, he can’t put that on.

He feels awkward and unbalanced as he wobbles to put on Keith’s underwear. 

 _Don’t overthink it, don’t overthink it— but he puts his junk in these! What if they aren’t clean?_ That turns him on way more than it probably should. _You’re something he’s put his junk in, you share the exact same properties as his fucking underwear, just put the damn things on!_

Huh. Now he’s compared himself to underwear. And even Keith’s underwear is fancy. It feels weird against his skin. Not unpleasant, just weird. He dries the rest of his body quickly, feeling cold. The floor feels like an iceberg.

Lance picks up the pyjama pants, made of some type of cotton that feels more expensive than his cheap shirt that he tie-dyed during his summer as a counsellor. He’s pretty sure his toes are going to get frost bite, so he rolls up the pants, puts the rest of the clothes on the floor near the bathtub, and steps into the still-warm water.

_Don’t think of it as standing in your own filth— fuck, now that’s the only thing you can think of, huh?_

He takes the shirt and holds it up, rolling his eyes. It’s a pretty plain shirt, but there are two buttons on it, which Lance thinks is weird as fuck. Why not three buttons? And it’s not like a button-down shirt either, and there’s no collar, or anything that’d need buttons. There’s literally no fucking reason for the buttons. But they’re there.

He slips it over his head. It feels nice.

He dries his hair, and steps out of the bath, pulling the plug on the water.

Standing in front of the mirror, he frowns. Something’s wrong. Something’s off. But he can’t quite figure out what it is.

He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to shape it into something that doesn’t make him look like he’s gelled it to his scalp. Nothing’s really working. Lance lifts the hem of his shirt to himself, and sniffs.

He smells like Keith. 

_Shit._

He can’t think about that too much, or else he’ll need another bath. 

He shakes his head, trying to jostle the thoughts out of his brain. 

He turns on his heel, about to exit when he slips on the water.

Lance spreads out his arms to catch himself, stopping just before his face hits the floor and it hits him.

His arms.

He can see his arms.

Lance kind of hates his arms. They’re too lanky in comparison to the rest of him. His legs have some muscle definition, his thighs are strong, his fingers are nice and callused, rough from years of basketball. His arms though seem to refuse to get any stronger. They’re not weak, but they don’t look as strong as they should be, considering how much strength is in them. He doesn’t have visible biceps, he can’t flex, there’s nothing _to_ flex. 

He wraps a towel around his neck and kicks the bathroom door open. It’s a temporary solution to a problem that he knows runs deeper than can be solved in a single moment, but he makes do with what he can.

“It is I! Captain Lance of … The Universe!”

Keith is sitting on his bed, reading a book. He’s changed out of his clothes and now he’s wearing his own version of pyjamas. They suit him so much better than Lance. He’s pretty sure he’s wearing Keith’s most casual clothes. He looks up at Lance’s comment and snorts. It’s adorable.

“A bit ambitious, aren’t we?”

“You don’t think I could take over the universe?” Lance inquires, tilting his head. He puts his hands on his waist and juts out his chin. “I, the great and powerful, Lance McClain of little-known Earth fame, shall rise up the ranks and take over the unknown universe!”

“What about the known universe?”

“That’s boring,” says the Cuban. 

Keith laughs. “Alright, Cap, do you want me to put your clothes in the drier?”

Lance nods. “Right, I shall lead the brigade to repurchase—”

“You’re just trying to use fancy words,” Keith accuses. “I bet you don’t even know what half those words mean.” He jumps off the bed with a little bounce in his step and moves past Lance to the bathroom. “Lance. The fuck?”

Lance peers over his shoulder. “What?”

“The bathroom.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you see what I’m seeing?”

Lance squints. “It’s a bathroom? With lots of foggy mirrors? Fuck, I should’ve written a message in the mirror, like _seven days_ and then driven you crazy. Missed opportunity.”

“It’s like Noah’s Ark in here!” Keith manoeuvres around a giant puddle of water on the floor. “Did you just never turn off the tap?”

“I did,” says Lance, rolling his eyes. “The tap system is like the Prefects’ bathroom, so much fucking shit that does so much stuff. I nearly burnt my back.”

Keith shakes his head. “It’s like it’s another swimming pool.”

“ _Another_?” Lance echoes. “You’re telling me this place has a _swimming pool_?”

“Lance!”

“Right, not the point, got it!” Lance frowns. “I uh, I mean I can clean it up. I didn’t really … I’m not really used to having baths, so I think I went overkill? And the hot water was kind of new too …” It’s hard to share an apartment with two other college students when the water bill can only cover so much, and if you take a shower that’s longer than seven minutes and forty-three seconds, the water turns freezing. Otherwise only the first person gets a hot shower, everyone else gets something that’s lukewarm. “I’m sorry about that—”

Keith is laughing.

_Shit, why is he so adorable?_

The boy is making it so hard on Lance. He curls into his own body as he laughs, snorting every now and then. It’s almost a cackle, like he’s some sort of hyena. Lance thinks it’s the greatest thing ever. Keith holds onto the large marble counter to stable himself. “Lance,” he says once he’s collected himself. “I think you drowned the last unicorn.”

That launches Lance into a fit of giggles and then the two of them are laughing and it’s so fucking hilarious for basically no reason whatsoever and Keith just looks so perfect under the lights of the bathroom and it’s like that night they had that Lance is reaching out, and Keith looks like he won’t stop him—

_BANG!_

The bathroom door hits the wall loudly, and Shiro is standing in the doorway, looking frantic, but his eyes are closed. “You two better be decent, because Zarkon’s on his way here, and we gotta get Lance the _fuck_ out of here if you want your boyfriend to survive this!”

Boyfriend. Lance wishes.

But Zarkon, yeah, that’s something to worry about.

Lance hasn’t actually met Zarkon Galra before, but he’s scared as fuck enough of him to know to get the hell out of dodge.

He trips over his own feet and “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckityfuckfuck your floor is fucking ice!” spews out of his mouth as he gets himself perched on the windowsill, still open. He’s about to jump when Keith grabs his arm.

“You’re not jumping out the window, one of us just got better after breaking their arm, you’re _not_ going to the hospital.”

“How else do you think I’m gonna get out of this?”

“Where’s your car?”

“I uh,” Lance blushes. “I kinda … wandered?”

“You’re telling me you _walked here?_ ”

Lance really wishes he wouldn’t say it like that. It just makes how whipped Lance is so much worse. “Uh, I was playing _Pokémon Go_?” It’s a lie, Pidge has banned him from playing after he nearly got hit by a car during the first week the game came out.

“Your phone is in the bushes, isn’t it?”

“Yes …?”

Keith is giving him a look that clearly says “you’re such a fucking disaster, how are you still breathing?”, which is honestly a question Lance asks himself every day. He’s pretty sure the answer has to do with sheer dumb luck, though. 

“I’ll drive you.”

Lance stares at Shiro over Keith’s shoulder. “I can’t make you do that.”

“It’ll be worse if Zarkon finds Ketih’s bike is missing than if my car is gone,” says Shiro. “Ditch the towel cape, and follow me.”

Lance is partially offended about the cape comment, but he tears it off and gets himself back inside the room. He had completely forgotten about his phone, now he’s got to worry about that too. Goddammit. _No, more important issues are at stake right now_. 

Lance leaves Keith’s room, and has no fucking idea where to go. He follows Shiro to the top of a staircase, when he sees how far down it is. Unless Lance rides the stairs like a toboggan, there’s no way he’s going to make it, so he gets onto the banister, and holds on for dear life.

He regrets it. His fingers burn against the wood and he feels off balance the entire time. He nearly falls face-forward, and has trouble distributing his weight evenly. He doesn’t know how people do it in the movies. He jumps off the banister and is pretty sure he’d have slid straight onto his face if he was wearing socks, which just reminds Lance of how fucking _cold the floor is_. He pushes it aside and _fuck, he has no shoes._

Shiro grabs keys from a peg on the wall and Lance is panicking big time because he has no fucking shoes—

“LANCE!”

He turns just in time to catch his Converse, soppy and wet, thrown over the banister by Keith, who starts taking the stairs three at a time, like his legs are moving before the rest of his body.

His feet have trouble shoving themselves into the shoe because they’re meant to be worn with socks, dammit, (Lance will never underestimate the importance of socks again) and by the time he’s hopping, trying to get his foot into the next shoe Keith is in front of him, offering his arm for support.

Lance may lean a bit too much, Keith starts teetering and Shiro is tapping his foot impatiently.

“My turn to play Cinder, huh?” Lance manages. He feels like he’s missing something, because he is, he doesn’t have a fucking jacket, or his phone, or literally _anything_ of his own on him. Also, his arms are disgusting and gangly and it’s _raining outside_ and he’s pretty sure he’s just lost fifteen years of his life as he stumbles trying to get out the door when the door opens and—

“Fuck.”

Zarkon Galra is staring at Lance, his mouth set in a firm line. He’s large and imposing, with eyes that seem to see into his soul and Lance feels a thousand times more inadequate than before, and that’s saying something.

“Shirogane. Keith.” His voice is commanding and Lance’s blood freezes in his veins. 

The two young men stand up straighter. 

“Who is this?”

“I uh, I’m um, name’s Tailor— I mean— shit— it’s—”

“He’s just leaving,” says Keith, placing his hands on Lance’s shoulders, guiding him to the door. 

Well, Lance has fucked this up.

“You did not answer me. _Who is he_?”

Lance _really_ wishes Zarkon wouldn’t act like he isn’t here. It just makes everything worse, somehow.

“A friend.”

That shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Lance has to respect what Keith wants and stop imagining there’s more, because he’s probably going to land himself in an early grave this way. Galras are so not good for his blood pressure. 

“Shirogane.”

Shiro freezes, half-way through pulling Lance out the door. Lance hasn’t breathed since Zarkon has entered, and he’s running low on lung capacity. He’s going to pass out soon.

“Yes, sir?”

“Drive safely. The roads are slippery.”

“Of course, sir.”

Shiro drags him the rest of the way out the door and into the rain. Lance gets into the backseat of Shiro’s car and the man hits the gas. He’s watching him in the rearview mirror, frowning.

“I’m really sorry about this—”

“It’s no problem,” says Lance quickly. “I uh, I should’ve expected it.”

If Lotor wasn’t enough, this definitely proves how out of Lance’s league Keith is. He’s on an entirely different _planet_. He rubs his hands together, trying to regain any feeling in his body. He thinks he might have hypothermia. He’s sure Pidge’ll tell him he’s being dramatic. The clock on Shiro’s dashboard tells him it’s nearly one thirty. He better be quiet when he re-enters the building.

Shiro raises an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing back there?”

“Uh, sitting?”

“Backseats for strangers, get the fuck up here.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Shiro grins. “Seriously.”

Lance unbuckles himself and awkwardly climbs over the front seat, grimacing as the leather makes squeaky noises as he tries to slither his way next to Shiro. He settles himself down and buckles up again, breathing deeply.

“So …”

“Yeah …”

Lance chuckles. “I might have had a mini-heart attack, but I doubt many people can say they pissed off Zarkon Galra within five seconds of meeting him.”

Shiro laughs. “I guess there is that.” He frowns. “So about Keith …”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me about him?”

“Actually, I just … I don’t want you to give up on him. He’s my brother and I love him, so much, but he’s a bit of an oblivious idiot. He’s a genius in some ways, but he’s seriously stupid in others.”

“Is this …” Lance’s eyebrows knit together. “Are you … are you giving me permission?”

Shiro grins. “If I wasn’t, would that matter?”

“Fuck no,” Lance blurts out before he can stop himself.

Shiro laughs at his panicked expression.

_Good to know you’re amused while I undergo cardiac arrest._

“And that’s why I’m doing this. He’s going to be hard as hell to get through to, but he needs someone. And I think you’re that someone.” Shiro bites his lip. “Don’t let him go. Don’t give him space to breathe. To get him to realize these types of things, you can’t be subtle. At all.” Lance frowns. “And Lance?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t doubt yourself.”

Lance fiddles with his fingers. “I— am I that obvious?”

Shiro shakes his head. “No, not at all. You’re very good. It’s just that I know Keith. If you have any doubts, if you ever hesitate, Keith’ll ruin it for you guys. He’s terrible at letting good things happen to him, he tries to sabotage himself in so many ways like you wouldn’t believe. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it, but he looks for any way out when things start going right for him. It’s weird, I think it’s a defence he’s made or something. 

“You can’t overthink it. Don’t let anyinsecuirties get to you. I know it’s not that easy, I can’t just say it and _bam_ , it’ll be true, but whatever problems you have, you can’t show them to Keith. He’ll jump on any excuse to ruin for himself. 

“The more Keith tries to deny himself something, the more obvious it’s something he wants, but won’t let himself believe is true.

“Let him believe in you, okay Lance?”

Lance nods. “Okay.”

“Good.” Shiro breathes in deeply, and all Lance can hear is the rain on the windshield. It’s calming but—

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“I was uh, hoping you’d tell me?”

* * *

“Who was he?”

Keith forces himself to look Zarkon in the eyes. “A friend.”

“Who was he?” 

“I told you—”

“Do not lie to me, Keith. _Who was he_?”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek. “He’s …” It’s hard to explain Lance. Keith isn’t really sure where they stand. “He’s Lance.”

“Lance?” Zarkon’s brow furrows.

“He’s in your aeronautics program at the Garrison—”

“Shirogane’s program.”

“Right.”

“He is not to come here again.”

“Right—what? Why?”

“He is clearly of the middle class, perhaps lower even. He is a scholarship student, made it into the school on the waiting list. He is not fit to be in this home.”

He’s sure Zarkon can hear his teeth grinding against each other. “So what? That just means he’s smart! He’s in the school because of merit, and you say that like it’s a bad thing!”

“I do not wish to continue this line of discussion—”

“Why the fuck not?” Keith demands. “There’s nothing wrong with him, he’s a great person! Are you so shallow that you don’t want him around just because he’s not rich?”

Zarkon’s nose crinkles. “It is a disgrace to the image of Galra—”

“Fuck the image of Galra! You can’t tell me who I can see and who I can’t!”

“I am your father—”

“Like hell you are!” 

“You will _not_ talk that way to me—”

“Are you going to shame me into behaving?” Keith snaps. “Huh? I’m a legal adult, I can do whatever the fuck I want! I’m not Lotor, I’m not your fucking puppet!”

“Go to your room.”

Keith shakes his head. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

Zarkon closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “I am going to count to three—”

“Don’t bother,” Keith sneers. “I’m not eight, that doesn’t work on me anymore. You can scowl all you want, doesn’t mean I’m going to do what you want.” He crosses his arms. 

“I am doing this for your sake. Consider your reputation—”

“This is all for your benefit!” Keith yells. “You’ve never done _anything_ for me, you piece of shit! I’m done taking orders from you, you understand me?”

He pushes past Zarkon to the door, but Zarkon grabs his arm. He’s holding him too tight, his fingers digging into Keith’s arm, and it hurts, like each nail is a needle.

“I am your father, and you _will_ listen to me—”

“You are _not_ my father,” Keith growls, pushing Zarkon off with more force than either of the two expected. “You never were, and you never will be. Fuck you, Zarkon.”

_SLAM!_

The slamming of the door has a nice note of finality to it, like he’s literally cut his ties, but he’s freezing and his jacket is still inside. He can’t go back in to get it after such a satisfying exit, that’d be weak of him. Besides, his whole body is tremble, whether of nerves or excitement, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know if he can stride out like that again.

His actions are catching up to his brain and it’s _horrifying_. What is he even _doing_? He can’t go back, and even if it’s cold and the rain is dripping through his thin clothes (stupid fancy ass material, it doesn’t trap warmth, what good is it?) and his teeth are knocking against each other and he feels numb and so he walks.

He wanders.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, or where he’s headed, or if he’s just walking in circles, but he takes turn after turn and he keeps going, even when his legs get tired and his head hurts and his fingers become numb in the cold. He gets splashed by a few odd cars on the road at the odd hour, and when he finally stumbles to a stop, he’s in front of a shitty, run-down apartment.

He walks into the lobby and he knows he looks suspicious as fuck, but he doesn’t have time for the wary looks of the people in the lobby. He skips the elevator and walks the stairs, going up several floors before he stops in front of his door.

He’s cold, and wet to the bone, and everything has been a shitty, shitty mess, and he needs something that’s good, something that’s okay, something that lets him _breathe_.

Keith needs to breathe.

He knocks on the door, stuffs his hands into his pants, there are no pockets because pyjamas are stupid and his thighs are cold so that does nothing so he awkwardly shoves them underneath his shirt, but that’s not much better.

The door opens and he’s there, and his hair is a mess and he’s in his own clothes now, and his eyes are so wide and so _blue_.

No one knows how to make him breathe quite like—

“The fuck are you doing here?”

_Inhale._

“Lance.”

_Exhale._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What time is it?”
> 
> “Doesn’t matter,” says Keith hurriedly. There’s something _desperate_ in his eyes and Lance has no idea what to do with it. “Just … let’s do something. Preferably insane.”
> 
> It’s well past midnight and Keith Kogane is climbing all over Lance’s bed, looking like an excited puppy full of energy and his eyes are just so _big and wide and adorable_ and the next thing Lance knows, he’s saying “skinny dipping?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are the transitions weird? Yeah, very weird.

****Lance’s back hurts like a bitch, his roommates are too loud, and the bed is uncomfortable. He rolls over to try and cover his ears from the morning commotion, but finds that there’s no longer a bed to support him and lands in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Get up, you big lump!” says a voice. Someone kicks him lightly in the side and he groans, rolling over, tangled up in his blankets. 

“Fuck you,” he moans. He’s tired, it’s too early in the morning, and he doesn’t want to have to explain himself. He still doesn’t fully understand what happened last night.

* * *

_Lance is dreaming. He must be, because it’s not possible that Keith fucking Kogane is standing in front of him, soaked to the bone from the rain, shivering on his doorstep, breathing his name like it’s some sort of fucking prayer._

_“Lance I—”_

_“Get the fuck inside, are you crazy?” the Cuban demands, forcing himself out of whatever fantasy-muddled world his brain escaped to. He ushers Keith inside, guiding him with a hand on his shoulder. He can feel the boy’s skin underneath the thin fabric, he’s freezing. For all the money it costs him, it sure as fuck ain’t keeping him warm._

_“Lance?”_

_Lance freezes at the sound of his name._

_Pidge stumbles into the living room, rubbing their eyes free of sleep and frowns. “Is that Keith? What’s going on?”_

_“Go to sleep,” Lance says quietly. “You saw nothing.”_

_Keith snorts. His entire body shakes, and Lance fears it might have to do with the cold. “You’re not a Jedi.”_

_“Says who?”_

_Pidge rolls their eyes, visible even in the dim light. “Just keep your screams of passion to a minimum, okay?”_

_Lance rolls his eyes right back at them. “Yeah, whatever you say.”_

_He steers Keith into his room, kicking away any stray laundry or toppled over books. He sets the boy down on his bed, making sure to tuck him in all the way up to his chin. It almost feels like he’s tucking in one of his nieces again. He’s tempted to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead, but resists._

_He takes some blankets from his closet and goes into the living room, climbing onto the couch to sleep._

* * *

“Anyone want to explain to me why Mullet Boy is at the breakfast table?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Just … be quiet, Pidge, okay?” He rubs his temples as he sits up on the floor, shaking his head. “I had a late night.”

“Sor—”

Lance turns to Keith abruptly and narrows his eyes. “If that word ends with ‘ry’, you can forget it. I don’t wanna hear an apology out of your mouth, you understand me, Kogane?” he demands. “What have we told you?”

“Don’t apologize,” the half-Korean replies in a monotone voice. “But—”

“No buts!”

He falls into the chair with a frown. Lance has never seen someone more upset about being forbade to apologize.

“I wasn’t complaining,” says Pidge. “Just curious how long we can expect you to be over here. Cause you know, you have to stay in Lance’s room. Which puts Tailor on the couch.” They smirk. “Unless he wants to defile you more?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” It’s not whatever. His back hurts like a bitch.

Keith fidgets awkwardly in the chair. “Would you … I have a call I need to make. Can I just …?”

Lance nods. It’s too much to deal with so early.

* * *

Lance’s bathroom doesn’t have a lock.

That’s not really a problem, but it makes Keith think about _that_ night and how that would’ve changed, had there been anyone else in the apartment. There’s mould growing around the basin of the tub, and he’s sure that’s a health violation or something. He could sue the landlord, but Lance wouldn’t accept living with him, not with Zarkon, and his family lives too far from the university. Plus there’s Hunk and Pidge to consider.

Lance’s clothes are inarguably more comfortable than his own. The hoodie is really big on him, but he’s pretty sure it’s cause Lance likes to get stuff that’s three sizes too large, so he can effectively hide inside of them, similar to what Keith wants to do now.

_You’re stalling._

Keith takes a deep breath, staring down at Hunk’s phone.

Lance’s phone is in the bushes of the Galra mansion, most definitely broken, Keith’s is on his bedside table, probably still in its charger, and Pidge has taken theirs apart to play with the motherboard. 

He hits call.

“Keith?”

It’s so nice to hear Shiro’s voice—

“How do you know it’s me?”

There’s a chuckle. “I come back from driving Lance back to his apartment to find that you’re missing, and Zarkon’s eye is twitching. You don’t have enough common sense to bring your phone with you when fleeing the scene of the crime. Besides, who else knows my number?”

“You’re a natural, Sherlock.”

“Thank you.”

Keith sits on the edge of the bathtub. It feels sticky beneath his fingers. He kind of likes it. His voice echoes, bouncing off the walls at such a volume that he can hear his voice coming from Shiro’s phone.

“Are you going to tell me to get my ass back to the mansion?”

“God, no!” Shiro says quickly, hurriedly, like this is the most important thing he’ll ever tell Keith and he needs to hear it as soon as possible. He’s right. “No, I’m not evil! You need time to cool your head, that’s fine. I get it. I’m actually impressed you didn’t snap sooner. Nah, take your time. I mean, the longer you’re gone, the more pissed Zarkon’s gonna be, but I like pushing his buttons anyway. Just check in with me every now and then, if that’s all right?”

A weight lifts off the half-Korean’s shoulders. 

It occurs to him then just how scared he was that Shiro would ask him to come back, force him to confront Zarkon and explain himself. Keith can’t explain it to himself, never mind anyone else. 

“Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“About Pilot Boy—”

“His name’s Lance—”

“Yeah, I know. I like Pilot Boy more. Either way, he’s a good guy.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“Yeah, well … forgive him, okay?”

Keith frowns. “What are you—?”

“A relationship goes both ways, Keith. Don’t think you’re the only vulnerable person involved.”

Keith picks at the hole in Lance’s jeans. They fit him pretty nicely. “That doesn’t explain—”

“You’re going to hurt him—”

“No, I won’t—”

“Trust me,” Shiro’s voice drops and suddenly Keith is reminded of the years separating the two of them. “You _will_ hurt him. That’s the way relationships work. None of them are perfect, and it’s bound to happen. Just … forgive him, when he screws up. And forgive yourself.”

Keith laughs nervously. “Bit deep for such an early morning conversation.”

“Hey, I gotta clock in my big bro talks when I can,” Shiro laughs back, more heartedly. “But seriously Keith, forgive him and yourself. And always know when to say sorry.”

The brunet lets go of the loose thread in the denim. He feels cold now. “Okay.”

“Good, now I have to get going to a meeting, but keep me updated.”

The line goes dead.

Keith sits on the edge of the bathtub for a duration of time that cannot be normal, but no one comes barging in for him to get the fuck out. When he opens the door, he sees Lance, hopping from foot to foot, a pair of earbuds in, facing the opposite wall. He can hear the music, some song by Rihanna.

“Lance?”

He doesn’t respond.

Keith taps him on the shoulder. He watches, amused as Lance collides into the wall, trying to make himself small. It doesn’t really work. Keith laughs as Lance takes out the earbuds.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

“You’re done?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You didn’t hear?”

The Cuban shakes his head. “Invasion of privacy. When you have as many siblings as I do, you learn to cherish it. Didn’t want to intrude.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Any reason you’re hopping?”

“Didn’t want to disturb you,” says Lance. “But I really gotta piss.”

Keith laughs, and gestures grandly to the bathroom door. “It’s all yours.”

He heads to the living room where Pidge is using up the entire coffee table for their phone experiment. Hunk is packing up some stuff he needs for his next class. Keith feels like an intruder.

“Oh no.”

He looks up to see Pidge frowning at him.

“What?”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

Keith frowns. “What thing?”

“The whole, oh no, I overstepped my boundaries, I should grovel now thing.”

Keith tilts his head. “I don’t do that.”

“Hunk?”

Hunk looks up from his class notes. “You totally do, dude. Not that that’s a problem, I’m not like Pidge, I’m not gonna get on your back about stuff like that. But I mean, have we done something wrong?”

Keith’s brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, if you still feel like you need to apologize, have we not made you feel welcome enough?” Hunk tilts his head. “Is this cause I didn’t give you biscuits last time? I would have, but like, Pidge was faster than you were, and if I had known you were coming, I’d have made more.”

Keith shakes his head. “No, it’s not your fault! I’m just … perpetually awkward. I have my foot down my throat and I’m constantly choking on it.”

Pidge wrinkles their nose. “That’s … a pleasant image.”

Keith’s not sure what to say to get his point across. It’s none of their fault if he’s like this, if he feels like he should be apologizing, it’s more of a reflex of his own. The words always slip out by accident, and then he’s left floundering because it always sounds so _stupid_ that he’s apologizing over something like leaving his phone in the wrong place.

“Look, it’s not you, this one’s on me. I’m still trying to figure out what boundaries exist and just because I can’t deal with my own shit, doesn’t mean I gotta be like that to you guys, so—”

“Over-apologetic?” Pidge asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“A bother.”

Hunk frowns. “You’re not a bother. You’re Lance’s friend. Any friend of Lance’s is a friend of ours. Doesn’t hurt that you’re pretty awesome, when you decide to let loose a bit.”

Keith doesn’t know what to do with the compliment, so he opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water.

“I um …”

“Look, we like you,” says Pidge, looking up from their phone contraption. “You’d know if we didn’t. Well, you’d know if _I_ didn’t. Hunk can be a bit of a doormat sometimes. But either way, you’re cool with everyone in this apartment. So chill, we’re not your enemies.”

Keith has been made stupid. He doesn’t know what to say, what he can say. “S—”

Pidge raises an eyebrow.

Keith clamps down on his jaw.

“Better,” they say with a grin. “Hey Hunk, don’t you gotta get going? You’ve got that class in like, fifteen minutes?”

“Crap!” Hunk shoulders his bag and flings the door open. “Gotta get going, remember, you’re awesome Keith, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, now I really gotta go or Iverson’s gonna have my ass!”

The door closes with a slam.

“Was that Hunk? Did I miss him?”

Keith turns to see Lance, wearing a pair of … lion slippers? He yawns and cranes his neck. There’s a distinct cracking sound. “Oh well, I’ll catch him later. We’ve got that class at 2.”

Keith frowns. “Don’t you have class?”

“Not till 11. I’ve got like, an hour.”

Lance opens the cupboards and sighs. “Pidge, did you eat me Lucky Charms again?”

Pidge groans. “Not this again—”

“You know I need my colorful marshmallows in the morning,” Lance whines. “You fiend, are they in your digestive track?”

Keith takes a seat at the counter, sinking low into it subtly.

Not subtle enough for Pidge.

A wicked grin spreads across their face. “Ask Lover Boy.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Keith’s not a thief, right Keith?”

Keith regrets his morning breakfast choice.

“Keith?” Lance turns to him and Keith can’t _not_ cave under those eyes.

“Sorry! They were just _there_ and I mean, it’s just—”

Lance’s jaw drops, similar to how Pidge does, onto the floor, cackling.

“Mullet Boy’s got a rebellious streak, doesn’t he?” they ask with laughter in their eyes. “Oh, this is too good!”

Lance is looking at him with a darkness in his blue eyes Keith has never seen before. “You _ate_ me Lucky Charms?”

“Do you have to do the accent? I think it might be more racist than Mario Kart.”

Lance grabs a fistful of Keith’s shirt (Lance’s shirt, technically). He doesn’t have the strength to lift Keith off the ground, and realizing this, he gets closer, in his face. He’s glowering, but he doesn’t look all that intimidating. He kinda looks cute, like a mad Pikachu. 

“Keith,” he says and Keith cannot be held responsible for the way his body reacts when Lance just flips some kind of _switch_ and goes from adorable to downright fuckable.

Keith is squirming, and it has nothing to do with fear.

Pidge must be gagging.

“Yes, Lance?”

“You stole me Lucky Charms!”

His breath is tickling his nose and Keith has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing, but he knows he can’t keep his mouth shut without letting _something_ escape, so he forces the laughter to morph into words and says, “You have morning breath.”

Lance lets go of Keith’s (Lance’s) shirt, and backs away. “I hope you know the only reason I’m letting this go is because I really like that shirt, and I only have an hour before my class.”

“Forty-five minutes,” Pidge says with a big grin.

Lance runs like he’s on fire.

Keith kind of wishes he was in school. Just to experience Lance in a school setting, to see him working hard for his next test. There’s some kind of barrier between the two of them that goes beyond Keith’s wealth and Lance’s place in the societal hierarchy. It’s a gap Keith is quite certain he’ll never be able to bridge.

Pidge frowns. “You gonna stay here all day?”

Keith doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

“I uh—”

“I’m messing with ya, it’s fine if you stay. Just don’t touch my equipment.”

Keith can do that.

* * *

Keith is in his house.

Holy shit, that means when Lance gets home, Keith is going to be waiting for him. Like a fucking housewife or something. Which is kind of unbelievable and the main reason he zones out in numerous classes. 

Lance has someone _waiting for him_ when he gets home. Sure, there’s always Pidge or Hunk, but it’s never been as appealing to him before.

But as he sits through his classes, he can’t help thinking about other things, the less-fun part of Keith staying over. He doesn’t know when he’s going to leave, or what’s happened, or why he left his giant-ass manor with the swimming pool sized Jacuzzi. And fuck, Lance still doesn’t have a phone.

That could be problematic.

After his last class with Hunk, Lance runs the rest of the way home. He’s jumpy, and it’s not exactly a negative type of hyper-ness, nor is it a good one. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, tripping over his feet as he races down the streets. He doesn’t have the patience to wait for the bus to pick him up, so he jumps the curb, and rushes into the elevator, but the floors aren’t going up fast enough so he jumps out at the second floor and scales it, skipping every second step. He nearly slides past his door, manages to knock on it, and then he’s keeling over from exhaustion because he’s fit, but he’s not _that_ fit.

Pidge opens the door, takes one look at him, and sees into his soul. “You ran.”

“That … that obvious?”

He can’t catch his breath.

“A little.”

“Is—”

“Yes, your Lover Boy is still here. You didn’t have to go Flash.”

Lance leans against the doorframe, panting. He needs to get his breath back, his hair is a mess and he’s sure he’s sweaty as hell. The adrenaline is pumping loudly in his ears, and it’s exciting and he’s pretty sure he’s high off the rush, but he doesn’t trust himself not to jump on Keith when he sees him. He needs to cool down.

“Get inside.”

Lance trips over the welcome mat. Keith stares at him from above, frowning.

“You okay?”

“Golden.”

The Cuban scrambles to his feet, dusting off his shirt (who is he kidding? He’s trying too hard). “Yo, sup, Keith?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t just going to ditch out of nowhere, you know,”

“What? I totally didn’t think that.” His laughter is pathetic and _way_ too forced. “What gave you that insane idea?”

“You want to sit down?”

Lance takes a seat. His elbow burns. Maybe he has wood burn? _Is that a thing?_ Knowing Lance’s luck, it probably is. But he can’t roll up his sleeve, not with Keith right in front of him. What if he has a scab? What if Keith sees his gross, scabby skin? So Lance holds his arm and ignores the sting.

“So …”

“So …”

Lance knows everything until now has been too easy. It’s inevitable that they get to the point where he feels tense and uncomfortable. But it’s mainly because Keith is looking at him like that and Lance doesn’t know how to process this information. 

“You … you probably want me to explain why I’m here, right?”

“Well, yeah-” Keith tenses up. Lance shakes his head. “But I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally curious. I’m dying to know, but I mean, if you’re not ready to tell me, that’s cool.” _Focus on your elbow, not on Keith. He’s so kissable- no, focus on the pain._ “I’m not like an FBI agent, forcing you to fess up to crimes or whatever. I’m not about that. You tell me when you want to tell me. So long as you _do_ tell me. Eventually.”

Keith is looking at Lance like he’s dropped out of outer space. “I … I _do_ plan on telling you—”

“So who cares when you do it?” Lance should really stop cutting him off, but he barrels through it, winces through the pinpricks of his elbow. He can’t check it now, not with Keith looking at him. “So long as you plan to do it sometime. We’ve got time. The world ain’t gonna explode tomorrow. Unless I jinxed it. Fuck, I totally jinxed it, didn’t I?”

Keith laughs and the tension evaporates from Lance’s shoulders. His arms fall limply at his side and he manages a forced laugh that somehow turns into a real one.

The Galra heir’s eyes widen suddenly. “Holy shit, are you bleeding?”

“Bleeding? Why would I be—?” _Oh_. Lance can feel it now. There’s blood dripping down his knee, which was _not_ where he thought he’d be bleeding. But hey, he can handle showing off his legs, his legs are one of his best features. “Yeah, a car ran into me.”

“You got _run over_?”

“No, it was parked. And in my way. I tried to do one of those cool action stunts where they jump over the front of a car, but uh, I’m not a stunt guy.”

Keith shakes his head. “How the _fuck_ have you survived this long?”

“Dumb luck?”

“Has to be. Stay put.”

Lance does as told. He drums his fingers against his leg and looks over his shoulder. Keith is all the way down the hall, probably looking for antiseptic.

He rolls up his sleeve and twists his arm, trying to access the damage. _Huh. Wood burn_ ** _is_** _a thing._ Unless he’s misnaming it, but the skin looks roughed up, though it’s not bleeding. Similar to when you skid against carpet for too long, and it leaves white trace marks. 

“ _Dumbest_ luck in the world,” says Keith in a monotone, suddenly in front of the Cuban.

Lance tries to climb up the couch, make himself one with the cushions because where the _fuck_ did Keith come from? But his knee protests and he curls into a ball on the couch. Pidge will kill him if he gets blood on the pillows.

“You fucked up your knee, and your elbow,” Keith notes, holding some first aid equipment Lance didn’t even know they had. “You’re on your way to Elric town.”

Shit. Keith can see his pathetic, scrawny arms. Lance pulls his sleeve down, scraping against the sensitive skin, holding in a wince. “Elric, huh? So you’re an anime nerd too?”

Keith scoffs. “As if you’re _not_.”

_He’s got you there._

“Still, wouldn’t admit it to someone who’s cool.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “And who exactly is cool?”

“Obviously I am,—”

“You like anime,” deadpans the boy with the mullet.

“Anime is _super_ cool, don’t diss the Japanese,” says Lance sternly. “But even more importantly, _you’re_ cool.”

“Is this some kind of _Soul Eater_ confession?”

Lance leans in closer, completely ignoring the stinging of his knee and his elbow. “Do you want it to be?”

They’re so close, he can feel the non-morning breath of Keith’s on his face, and if he closes his eyes—

“SHIT!”

Lance’s knee kicks up, hitting Keith in the chin, who falls to the ground over-dramatically. “Right, it might sting a bit,” says the rich boy. 

Lance holds his knee to his chest. “You’re supposed to say that _before_ you apply it!”

“How was I supposed to know you were going to _Karate Kid_ my face?”

“Basic human reflex?!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “You are _so_ stupid.”

“But you love it.”

Keith frowns, the light in his eyes disappearing. Right, Lance overstepped a line. _Boundaries! Those are things! Normal people have boundaries! And Keith’s made it clear what he wants, and it’s not you._

But sometimes Keith makes him think it might be, and he’s been wavering on this line, and he doesn’t know, he really doesn’t. What _does_ Keith want from him? He can’t read minds, only guess and he’s running in circles trying to figure it out. 

_Keith Kogane is going to lead me to an early grave._

Lance can’t find it within himself to mind.

* * *

They spend the rest of the day doing just about nothing, lazing around, watching TV, Keith avoiding his problems, calling Shiro every now and then. They play a very intense round of Guess Who, in which Keith tells Lance he cannot ask “do they have a Hitler-stache?” to eliminate people.

Lance knows Keith doesn’t want to talk about it, and that’s fine with him. Really. But he _is_ curious. There’s something eating at Keith, and he doesn’t know what it is. Can’t even begin to imagine what sort of rich-boy problems he has.

He can’t think of them as “rich boy problems” though. Just because Keith has money, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his own problems that are less significant than Lance’s. Different things mean different things to different people, and he can accept that, but if this is Keith worrying over a merger or something, Lance is so out of his depth. He really hopes it’s not about a merger.

He goes to bed in his own room, and Keith takes the couch (insists, because he’s forced Lance onto that hell bed once, and he can’t do that to him again. Lance is infinitely grateful).

He falls asleep without much trouble, until—

“Let’s do something crazy.”

The Cuban is barely awake and there is a half-Korean man-child on his bed, making his legs go numb, spouting nonsense. There’s no hint of light outside, and his brain is only half-awake.

“What time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” says Keith hurriedly. There’s something _desperate_ in his eyes and Lance has no idea what to do with it. “Just … let’s do something. Preferably insane.”

It’s well past midnight and Keith Kogane is climbing all over Lance’s bed, looking like an excited puppy full of energy and his eyes are just so _big and wide and adorable_ and the next thing Lance knows, he’s saying “skinny dipping?”

Keith grins. “Skinny dipping.”

* * *

Keith’s scared Lance is going to retract his statement, but he gets out of bed without grumbling too much, packs several towels, and writes a hurried note to Pidge about maybe not being in his bed when they wake up.

They get into Lance’s car, which sputters to life.

Keith doesn’t know what he’s thinking, and he’s okay with that. He doesn’t _want_ to think, so this is kind of the ideal situation he’s got going on right now.

Shiro tells him he’s okay with him going haywire, so long as Keith doesn’t do something like, jump off a bridge, and he comes back eventually. He never uses the term “home” and he’s grateful for that.

The Galra have never been home to him.

Sitting shotgun in Lance’s too-small buggy with his knees pulled up to his chest because he can’t stretch out his legs, staring at a grease-stained comic book in the glove compartment and shitty _Despacito_ playing in the speakers is home to him.

He can breathe for what feels like the first time ever.

* * *

Lance kills the engine at the edge of the pond. He doesn’t really know why exactly there’s a pond just a few miles off of the university, but he supposes that it makes for a convenient place for when a certain half-Korean decides to be a rebellious punk.

Lance has done some pretty dumb shit in his nearly two decades of existence, and skinny dipping isn’t even the half of it. To be fair though, he’s been mostly sober during all the times he’s done such things (he’ll blame it on his half-grown in executive function), but Keith is sitting in the passenger seat and he looks like he’s barely even with Lance in the car.

“Hey, listen.” Lance gnaws on his bottom lip. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Lance could be nice and say that Keith doesn’t tense up, but he totally does.

“Look—”

“If you’re trying to talk me out of this, it’s not going to happen—”

“Fuck no!” Lance shakes his head. “I think you’re misunderstanding me. I don’t care, if you want to go skinny dipping at—” he checks his watch— “three in the morning. I really couldn’t give less of a fuck. I’m not going to talk you out of it.”

Keith’s looking at him with vulnerable eyes and Lance needs to hold onto something or else he’s going to lose his head. “Really?”

“Hey, it’s your life, I’m not telling you how to live it. If you’d asked me to climb Everest right now, I’d be down. I’m always down for whatever you wanna do, you got me?”

Keith smiles and it’s hard to see in the dark, but it’s almost like it lights up the sky. Goddammit, Lance is such a sap.

“If you’ve got something on your mind, something you’re trying to run from, I don’t care. Run from it as long as you want, I’m not gonna tell you it’s wrong. Sometimes we need to run, to clear our head. Sometimes running is all we know how to do. But if you ever decide to stop running, and face it, know I’m down for that too, okay?”

Keith looks like he’s about to cry, and shit, that’s not what Lance wants, so he pops open the door and gets the towels from the trunk and winks, racing Keith to get in.

Lance thinks it’s like some kind of movie from the 80s, where the bad boy turns the good girl bad, and they do some stupid shit together and have a bonding montage. He doesn’t mind. He thinks he’s lost a shoe in the bushes, but when he hits the water, it’s cold as fuck and it shocks his system.

He’s never been more awake.

Lance watches in awe as Keith strips. He thinks back to that night. It was _months_ ago. He hasn’t gotten laid in months, but knowing he’s spend those months with Keith, he doesn’t mind. He can still remember how long it took Keith to get undressed. Lance kept reaching for his shirt, for his belt buckle, and Keith kept pushing him away, but pulling him in for another kiss and Lance had waited until the lights were basically off and Keith felt comfortable. It’s almost funny how long it took Keith to take off his Goddamn jacket. He can’t see Keith clearly, the best lighting he’s got is from the headlights of the car and it casts him in a pasty, too-bright, too yellow light. Keith falls over into the grass when his pants get stuck at his ankles and it reminds Lance of that time, when Keith tripped over himself every step of the way.

It’s not even erotic, it’s just clumsy and hilarious and Keith is turning bright red as he blushes and Lance laughs, tossing his head back. It’s adorable. Lance isn’t even turned on at the sight of Keith’s body, though he can admit faintly in the back of his mind that the boy is _gorgeous_ and it’s a shame to hide such a thing. 

Keith jumps into the pond and splashes Lance in the face.

“You little brat!” 

“Oh yeah?”

This is … this is it. This is that thing all those books talk about. That moment in that shitty book that he had to read for school, and he doesn’t need drugs for it.

He feels infinite, in this moment, with Keith, under the moon.

“Hey, you kinda look like you’re floundering over there,” says Lance, and he swears it’s not a move (except maybe it’s kind of a line?). 

Keith bobs his head, making large circles with his arms, and his feet are kicking a bit too spastically. 

Lance swims behind him, putting his arms around his waist. He’s scared if he touches his shoulders, he might push Keith under and Keith’s head is barely above water. “Can you swim?”

“Can I swim?” Keith echoes. “Of course I can swim.”

Lance shakes his head. “Can you swim _well_?”

“Look at Mr Grammar—”

“Keith, answer me. What is your swimming ability?”

Keith stays silent.

“Shit, you should’ve told me that—”

“NO!”

Lance tenses and his hold on Keith tightens reflexively. “I—”

“I’m not a baby!” As Keith tries to swim around to face Lance, his legs start kicking wildly everywhere, just narrowly missing Lance’s groin. When he finally _is_ facing him, his bangs are falling into his face and okay, maybe it’s turned a bit erotic to Lance. 

_He might be drowning, idiot! Focus!_

“You’re a good swimmer, right?”

Lance nods numbly.

“So you need to keep me afloat. If I drown, it’s on your conscience.”

“It shouldn’t have to be!” Lance is a lifeguard during the summer, but he guards the kiddie pool most of the time. Not that he’s not an amazing swimmer, but this is a bit much. He’s not a swim instructor, he’s a fucking CPR expert. He supposes he can always use that on Keith if he has to. “Okay wait, just, follow me for a second.”

Their fingers link together, and it’s kind of gross with all the water, Lance doesn’t trust his grip on the boy as he guides him to the side of the pond. “If you really want to do this, I’m not letting you get in so deep that you drown.”

“I don’t plan on drowning.”

“No one _plans_ on drowning Keith, it’s just a thing that happens.”

Keith’s head bows low. “Sorry. I …”

There are droplets of water on Keith’s lashes, which isn’t fair at all because Christ, Lance is such a goner.

“Hey, look at me,” he says softly. He’s not good with comforting talks, he always does them weirdly, and Pidge always thinks he’s insane. You’d think being an older brother would help, or you’d pick up a few things from your older siblings, but nope. Lance always flounders.

Keith won’t meet his eyes. He’s curling into himself and Lance _knows_ now isn’t the time to turn things around and demand why the fuck _he’s_ the one complaining when Lance is bearing his stupid looking arms The water stings, a thing he’s been ignoring, but it’s kind of impossible to ignore now.

“Let’s get out.”

Keith shakes his head. “No, I don’t want you to get out just because I was stupid—”

“No, I mean, let’s get out. I think I’m bleeding.”

Well, that kicks Keith into gear.  

Keith scrambles out of the water and pulls Lance with him. Lance keeps his knee in the water. It’s cold as fuck, and he’s shivering and then Keith is running away and then a towel is draped over Lance’s shoulders. He’s sitting buck naked in the grass, bleeding from a stupid fucking car.

This is so _stupid_.

He laughs. Kind of maniacally.

Keith joins in and then they’re sitting side by side at the edge of the pond with Lance’s bleeding knee, staining the water red.

“So, skinny dipping … That was a bust,” says Keith softly. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s getting into me recently, I’m just …”

Lance waits, wraps himself tighter in the towel and makes sure to keep his eyes on Keith. This is important. He knows it is. And he’ll be damned if shitty headlights and a bleeding knee are going to stop him from giving Keith all the attention he deserves.

“It sounds so _stupid_ , but I … you do this _thing_. And it just messes with my head.”

_Same here._

“And it’s like, something inside me snaps, or connects? I don’t know which it is, but whatever it is, it _happens_ and then it’s like I’m coming undone, or I’m being pieced together? And the world gets sharper, and then I start thinking crazy things, impossible things and I …” Keith frowns. “It sounds cheesy if I said that looking at you … looking at you makes me think of the infinite possibilities of the galaxy.”

“You’re right, it does sound cheesy.” The hair is sticking to his forehead and he’s grinning like a stupid idiot. It’s about time his life played out like some kind of romcom, instead of trying to rebel against every cliché. “But I mean, I kinda like it.”

Keith laughs. “I think I’m going insane.”

“So? We can be like Harley and Joker, two crazy peas in a pod,” says Lance with a grin. “Or two Deadpools in a pod.”

“Oh God, one Wade Wilson is enough.”

The two of them laugh, side by side, and this is nice. This is better than nice. This is … this is _perfect_ , and Lance is scared to reach out and touch this moment, to ruin it. He can’t afford to ruin this anymore, if this scene stops, if it ends, it won’t be his fault, it’s going to be because Keith pulls away because he doesn’t know how many times he can put himself out there and recoil.

There’s a flash.

The two of them jump to their feet. 

“Is anyone out there?”

“Yes, because if someone _is_ out there they’d be like ‘Hey, yeah, I’m here! Thanks for checking in on me!’?” Lance shakes his head. “C’mon, let’s go.”

They get into the car and stumble over each other. Lance hates being wet when he puts on clothes, the way the material clings to his body and the fabric rubs against his skin. It’s not agreeing with him, but he doesn’t say anything and Keith presses a towel against Lance’s knee, to stop the blood.

They stumble into the apartment, cackling like hyenas because in retrospect, everything is absolutely hilarious.

Pidge shushes them.

Lance doesn’t really care.

Looking at the droplets that drip down Keith’s face and the way he tosses his head back when he laughs and tries to stifle himself by covering his mouth, but mostly his nose and starts breathing weirdly, Lance grins.

_One more go._

* * *

Lance is pretty sure sneaking onto the Galra Tech private landing strip is totally illegal, but it turns him on that Keith is dragging him along with the biggest grin on his face. 

“C’mon, I owe you for the disaster that was almost skinny dipping!”

Lance’ll follow Keith anywhere he wants, and it’s kind of stupid, but he gets into the cockpit and he’s way too excited.

“What if I crash?”

“So you crash,” Keith shrugs. “Not my problem.”

“It will be if you’re the one in here with me.”

Keith leans in so close, Lance doesn’t know what to do with himself. “So don’t crash. You’ve got precious cargo.”

Well, that settles that.

Lance thinks it’s kind of hilarious because he’s finally decided to take the plunge, and he’s on a fucking _plane_.

* * *

Keith trusts Lance. He really does.

How _much_ he trusts him is being tested as the teen pilots a plane. He seems to think he’s flying some kind of fancy aircraft meant to do air tricks. It’s not. It’s a private jet. A private jet that Keith’s absolutely sure is going to crash.

“Hey Keith?”

Keith’s heart is racing because his whole life has just flashed before his eyes after another stupid stunt of the Cuban’s and he doesn’t know how Lance can sound so fucking calm when they _nearly died_ , but he makes a sound of acknowledgement because that would be smart, and because he _can_ because he’s not dead and then—

_Holy shit I’m kissing Lance._

Keith doesn’t know what to do. The angle is weird, and it’s kind of uncomfortable. Their lips slide against each other clumsily and it barely feels like an actual kiss. Keith loves it. Lance puts a hand on his cheek to guide him, almost as if he’s scared Keith’s going to back away. Such a thought is stupid. He draws Lance in closer and when they part, he can barely breathe for an entirely different reason.

“Hey Keith?”

“Hmm?”

“You take me to new heights.”

Keith pushes Lance in the shoulder. “You’re terrible.”

Lance chuckles back, and pulls Keith in for another kiss.

It’s great. It’s amazing. It’s like fireworks are exploding underneath his eyelids—

“LANCE, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” Keith pulls him off of him, and screams, grabbing the controls. “If you don’t start paying attention, I’ll start _literally_ falling for you, you dingus!”

Lance cackles like an idiot as Keith reaches over him to steady the plane. 

“Aye aye, Captain, my Captain!”

He wonders if Lance has a death wish. He can’t make himself want him any other way though.

They spiral downwards, and when they finally land, the tires screech against the asphalt.

“We nearly _died_!”

“I know! Wasn’t it _awesome_?”

Lance is practically _glowing,_ shining like the fallen star that he is, his eyes twinkling with the rush, his hands shaking from the adrenaline. His hair is in his face, damp and stuck to his forehead and he’s smiling so widely, Keith thinks his face is going to break into two.

Keith grins.

“Yeah. It was.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, I’m not, don’t tell me how I feel, Keith,” Lance snaps. “I’m just … You know when you listen to those ASMR videos that send tingles down your back and it’s weird as fuck, but like, you kinda like it, even though it makes your body react in weird ways that you have no control over, and you end up looking like you’re having a spasm in your bed while someone gets real close to the mic and says stuff like ‘watermelon’ all sexy like? It’s kind of like that.”
> 
> Keith blinks.
> 
> “I’m not making sense, am I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the last chapter was a bit of a mess, so is this one. It's a bigger mess. I'm sorry it took so long, I'm in midterms week and stuff, but I forced the chapter out. I don't own Voltron, or any of the things I make reference to. Bro-bonding with Hunk and Lance is a beautiful thing.

No one’s taught Keith about the after-credits. If this were a picturesque movie, then he and Lance have reached their climax and are destined to be together forever, and it’ll be adorable and great, until they decide the movie made enough money to make a shitty sequel, in which it’ll be five years from now and they’ll be in trouble because Lance leaves his socks too close to the sink, and Keith never has time for him anymore with all the work he needs to get done, and then after about ninety minutes of “will they or won’t they?”, they’ll get together, fade to black, roll credits again.

Keith is trying to decide whether the dizziness he feels has to do with the landing, Lance, or his own head as he tries to figure out how to keep Lance now that he has him. If Lance is even his to keep. If this even means anything.

The movies always teach you how to get to the happy ending, never how to keep it.

They skip over the really important parts, the whole communication thing, because Keith doesn’t know where they stand now. When Carmilla and Laura look at each other, it’s understood that the kiss means “I like you, also, thank you for basically killing your mother for me, and I’ll ignore that you’re 400 years old at least and continue to make out with you anyway, and, _yes_ , I’m still filming this, it’ll be playing at our wedding”.

There’s a looming cloud of uncertainty between the two boys. Keith doesn’t know what to do with it. He’s pretty sure if he speaks, he’ll choke on his tongue, or bite it off. He feels skittish, as though if he touches Lance, he’ll disappear. 

The drive back is silent, and then they get out of the car. The elevator ride is silent, save for the sound of the shitty elevator music. Lance opens his mouth, like he wants to make a comment about it, but he lets it go.

They’re standing in the vestibule now, staring at each other. In silence.

Keith is choking in it.

Lance chuckles nervously, rubbing his neck. There’s a strand of hair there that Keith just wants to pull at. He keeps his hands to himself. “So …”

“So.”

Keith clears his throat awkwardly. “So the kiss …”

“Yeah, the kiss,” Lance echoes. “That was a thing. That we did. The two of us. Of course it was the two of us, who else would do it? Heh, heh.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “You’re rambling.”

“Yeah, my mouth does that.”

Keith hates this. It’s too tense. They can talk this out, they’re grown adults. He’ll think of a nice, good way to put it before he opens his mouth— “What are we doing?”

_Or you could just do that …_

“I mean, well, we’re standing in a vestibule,” says Lance. “And you haven’t taken off your shoes. And I mean, I could ask you to take them off and then I’ll take them and hide them away …”

“Cause you’re a House Elf.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Lance fidgets nervously. “Look—”

“Can we just … stop?”

Lance swallows. Keith watches his Adam’s apple bob. It’s like a whole spectacle. “Stop?” His voice is hoarse.

“Not like, stop, stop,” Keith corrects himself. He’s digging himself a grave using words and he doesn’t know how to get out. "More like … pause, stop?”

“Temporary stop?” 

“Yeah, that.”

“So a traffic light stop?”

“You know to stop at traffic lights?”

Lance laughs. It sounds less forced. “I _did_ pass my driving test.”

“I don’t have the slightest clue _how_ ,” Keith teases. “But yeah. So like … just pause. Let’s not … we won’t do labels, labels are pressure and pressure’s bad.”

“Very bad,” Lance agrees with a somewhat frantic nod that makes Keith think his head will pop off his neck at any moment. “ _So_ bad.” He’s shuffling his feet, digging into the welcome mat, like he’s trying to dig himself a tunnel to China. “So. We’re doing chill, and breezy?”

“Chill and breezy?” Keith snorts. “Do you _hear yourself_?”

“Too much?”

“A bit.”

Lance nods. “Right. Okay. Just … it just _is_. Okay.” He bites his lip. Keith thinks it’s going to start bleeding any second now. “So I’ll just …” He makes a gesture with his hands which is probably meant to be something, some kind of identifiable gesture, but it’s not and realizing it’s not, Lance’s arms fall to his sides pointlessly. “I, uh … Brush your teeth.”

“Are you telling me my breath smells bad?”

“No, I mean …” The Cuban licks his lips. “You tasted like honey. I think you might get a cavity. I mean, unless you haven’t had honey, and that just means you naturally taste like honey, which is … weird, you should get that checked out, but I mean, I’ve always had a sweet tooth so—” Lance is turning profusely red. “I’ll just shut up now.”

Keith grins. “Okay.”

The aviation student puts his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and rocks on the heels of his shoes. “I’m just going to … go?” 

“You’re acting like a stranger in your own house,” Keith says. “Is this making it weird? Should we just forget—”

“Are you kidding me?” Lance shakes his head, and it’s like his whole body is shaking. Of laughter, or nerves, Keith can’t tell. “Are you fucking kidding me? I _finally_ get to kiss you and I’m guaranteed to remember it tomorrow, and you want me to forget it? That ain’t fucking happening. I’m gonna need to be Ellen to forget that.”

Somehow, Keith understands that he means Dory, with that half-assed memory, and Keith doesn’t know if he finds it endearing that that’s the way Lance’s brain works, or concerning. 

“I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable—”

“I’m not!”

“You really look like you are—”

“Well, I’m not, don’t tell me how I feel, Keith,” Lance snaps. “I’m just … You know when you listen to those ASMR videos that send tingles down your back and it’s weird as fuck, but like, you kinda like it, even though it makes your body react in weird ways that you have no control over, and you end up looking like you’re having a spasm in your bed while someone gets real close to the mic and says stuff like ‘watermelon’ all sexy like? It’s kind of like that.”

Keith blinks.

“I’m not making sense, am I?”

"Not really."

“Shit, it’s just …” The brunet runs his fingers through his hair, and it’s sticking to his forehead, like he’s been doused in water even though Keith knows it’s really sweat because those helmets are stuffy as fuck when you’re going out flying. You kind of forget about it when you’re above the clouds, but then it hits you full force once you’re on the ground. Doesn’t make him look less attractive.

“I’m not uncomfortable, I’m … It’s like someone gave me a lot of candy. And I don’t know what to do with my body anymore, and I’m just twitching a lot, but it’s just because I have so much random _energy_ , I don’t know what to do with it. And I’m just … I think I’m on a sugar rush?”

Keith reaches outwards, to touch Lance, to tell him it’s okay. Or just because he wants to touch him. But the Cuban takes a step backwards and Keith forgets words, they die in his throat and then—

_BANG!_

“WE CAME, WE CONQUERED, WE KICKED SOME ROBOT ASS!”

Keith is suddenly getting very well acquainted with the door, close enough to be making out with it in fact, as his body is pressed up against the cracking white paint of the apartment wall, pretty nicely squished. Pidge’s voice is loud and clear, destroying Keith’s hearing forever.

“Where’s Keith?”

“You just turned him into Flat Stanley!” says Lance, and then there’s a hand on Keith’s arm, dragging him out from the confined space. While Keith dusts himself off, Lance turns to Pidge. “I told you you’d enjoy the robotics club, eh?”

Pidge wrinkles their nose. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

Keith’s arm feels hot, like everywhere Lance is touching will leave a burnt engraving of his fingerprint against Keith’s too pale skin. He doesn’t want to pull his arm away and make Lance think he’s uncomfortable, because he’s not, but at the same time it feels like too much contact for him to take. He’s pretty sure his mind has been reduced to that of a preschooler, who doesn’t know what’s happening anymore and is panicking profusely over some boy’s touch and whether or not he washed his hands after snack time. 

“Hey, bud, don’t break his arm,” says Hunk. So it’s _not_ Keith’s imagination that Lance’s grip is tighter than usual.

“I’m just going to … have some food,” says Keith. He needs to clear his head, gather his thoughts, figure out what all this _means_ , and he knows he can’t do that when he looks at Lance because all his normal brain functions fly out the window with one look at the Cuban.

He knows he pulls himself out of Lance’s grip a bit too fast, and his pace is swifter than it has to be, but he just needs some space to think.

* * *

Lance is pretty sure he fucked up.

Why else would Keith be acting like a startled cat? If the kiss didn’t freak out the half-Korean, then Lance’s behaviour sure as fuck did. He wishes he could control the way he acts around Keith, but he really can’t. It’s not his fault, Keith just makes him… not nervous. There’s no word for it, he doesn’t think, unless there is and English is just a totally shit language to describe emotions.

Being around Keith feels like his blood has been replaced with Red Bull. It makes him hyper and jittery, and it’s probably bad for his health. His heart tries to jump out of his chest frequently, and he pedals through it, no idea where the brakes are, even when he knows he should be slamming on them. It feels wrong to stay still, so his thoughts and body are always trying to do something, and he’s overtly aware of everything in regards to Keith. He somehow kept up a conversation with him while at the same time counting the number of splits/cracks in his lips. 

Keith needs to take better care of his mouth. Lance can show him his moisture routine.

Pidge is waving a hand in his face but he’s barely paying attention. 

“Hey, Dude, you alright?”

”Guys…” Lance shoots a glance at the kitchen. “I think I’m dying.”

“Bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

“No, I mean …” He’s rambling to find words, the right words, but he’s falling short, grasping at straws as he tries to figure it out. “It’s … Keith …”

“It’s always Keith, isn’t it?” says Pidge, rolling their eyes. “What’d you do this time? Something stupid, no doubt.”

Lance can’t find it in him to argue with them. He’s pretty sure they’re right. “I may have … agh …” He shakes his head. He needs something to do with his hands, _anything_ , something to distract him. He can’t focus like this, and if he focuses for too long, he thinks he’s going to go insane. “I—”

There’s a knock on the door.

Lance opens it.

His blood curls.

* * *

 

Keith stares at the expired milk in the fridge. It’s really empty. Maybe he’ll make Lance go grocery shopping with him, though, since he _did_ leave his home without a second thought, he doesn’t have much money on him, because _of course_ he doesn’t. To be fair to him, he _did_ have to get out of there. He would’ve done something worse than just yell at Zarkon if he had stayed. He doesn’t suppose Lance has a lot of money for groceries either.

Keith Kogane is nineteen years old, a legal grown-up. He can make his own decisions and deal with the consequences. He is mature, logical, and methodical. Naturally, he sticks his head into the fridge to cool off his head.

There’s a six-pack of beer, and a half-eaten corn on the cob. Keith’s long-past the point where Lance’s odd lifestyle is “intriguing” to him, and has moved on to thinking it’s disgusting. The boy needs to take better care of himself.

Was the kiss a mistake? With the way Lance is acting, Keith almost wants to take it back. It pleases him, however, to know what Lance tastes like when he’s sober (apples and spice).

Keith takes a long gulp of orange juice. It feels weird in his mouth. Yeah, Lance _really_ needs to go shopping.

“Hey, Lance?” he calls out, sticking his head into the living room, to see the aforementioned boy closing the front door. Pidge and Hunk are sitting on the couch. There’s a gloom in the air that wasn’t there before, Keith is sure of it.

Lance looks up at Keith and bites his lip. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Keith replies. “About your fridge—” 

“I think you should leave.”

Keith frowns. He can’t have heard that right. “Excuse me?”

“I …” The Cuban takes a deep breath. His whole body shudders as he lets it out, as if something is making its way through his body, travelling along his spine and he’s finally gotten it out. “I think, you should go back, Keith.”

The half-Korean’s eyes narrow. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing.” 

Lance is a shit liar. Keith tells him so.

“I’m not lying. It’s just …” Lance’s fingers are twisting together, like he’s trying to play cat’s cradle without the string, like he _needs_ to do something with his hands, or else the world will end. “Listen, you can’t hide out here forever, right? We can barely support the three tenants who _do_ live here, and if the landlord finds out we’re hiding a fourth, we’ll have to pull some _New Girl_ trick or something, throwing mattresses out of windows and pretending to be from Finland or something.” He shrugs. He’s not convincing Keith, and he’s not convincing himself. “Just … I think it’d be better if you left.”

Keith grits his teeth. “Oh yeah?”

“... Yeah.”

The biracial boy looks at Lance carefully.

His bottom lip is trembling, his hands are clenched at his sides, but there’s something fierce in his eyes, something that says he’s not backing down, even if he wants to. Something’s happened. 

In the time it’s taken Keith to get himself a cup of OJ, something’s shaken Lance to the point where he’s asking Keith to leave.

“Okay.”

Hunk and Pidge don’t say anything when he makes his way past them to the door. He doesn’t need to take anything with him, he didn’t bring anything with him. 

He’s fine. This is fine.

Why would Lance bother with someone like him anyway? He’s a handful, that’s why the other kids picked on him, why the matrons at the orphanage hated him, why the foster parents never wanted to put up with him for too long. It was why he could never hold down a friend, never mind a relationship. 

Keith isn’t stupid. He knows he’s trouble. He has his issues, ones money can’t fix. He has a temper, he gets anxious, he’s terrified of Zarkon finding out about his sexuality, and there’s a large part of him that just wants to get on his bike and ride until he runs out of gas, finding a random location in the middle of nowhere, and making a home there. It’s not like he’s ever had a home elsewhere.

He’s made Shiro worry, Zarkon is probably going to have his head, Lotor will no doubt know at this point where he’s been, just because he has spies _everywhere_ , and it’s not like Keith has an option to camp out anywhere else. He’s got nothing on him, he can’t hope to survive this way.

So he makes his way back to the Galra residence, keeps his head down. He thinks about texting Lance, then remembers Lance’s phone is toast. Right. So that’s out of the question. Which just means that he’s got no connection to Lance anymore.

He doesn’t feel comfortable going back to Lance’s apartment, and he thinks it’s worse, knowing what Lance tastes like, and knowing that’s never happening again.

Lance isn’t stupid. He won’t make the same mistake twice.

By the time he’s inside, kicking off his shoes, he knows he’s in trouble, and that’s fine. He’s accepted it at this point.

When Zarkon locks him in his room, takes away his phone, and tells him he can’t leave, he doesn’t put up a fight, doesn’t bother. He’s tired. Too tired to fight with him. 

He collapses onto his bed, sinking into the mattresses. He hopes it’ll swallow him whole.

* * *

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

“You have to stop that.”

“AGH!” 

 _THUD_.

“Keep doing that, and you’ll get brain damage,” Pidge hums.

“They’re right you know,” Hunk says. 

Lance sighs, stretching out his leg in front of him. “Agh. I … I swear, I said it wouldn’t get to me, and it got to me.” He shakes his head. “I’m … I can’t believe I’m so fucking _pathetic_.”

“Hey, I’m the only one allowed to say those things about you,” Pidge snaps. 

They fall into silence as Lance stares at the empty spot in the vestibule that Keith left behind. He shouldn’t be so pissed, he’s the one who told Keith to leave. He didn’t want him to leave, and there’s a part of him that’s disappointed, because he thought Keith was above that, could read him better than that, could know that Lance didn’t mean a word that came out of his mouth. But then again, why had he said it?

“This is bad …” the Cuban runs his fingers through his hair for perhaps the a hundredth time. He’s going to go bald at this rate. “This is … this is really bad.” 

Pidge leans over the couch, resting their elbows on either side of Lance’s head to stop him from accidentally cracking his skull open on the armrest. “What happened? You said you did something stupid. What was it? I mean, _before_ you asked him to leave.”

Lance breaks free from Pidge’s appendage-made-prison, and pulls his knees close to his chest. He tucks his head between his legs and sighs, replying.

“What?”

“I said … I mphed.”

“Say it to us, not your thighs, Tailor,” Pidge instructs.

“I SAID I KISSED HIM, ALRIGHT? JEEZE PIDGE!”

His chest is heaving way too much for this type of confession. 

Pidge blinks, the lenses of their glasses somehow making their eyes so much bigger than before. Hunk is silent, though he looks uncomfortable, like he’s trying not to say something.

“It was stupid,” Lance says, resting his chin on his knees. “Really stupid.”

“But isn’t it good?” asks Hunk. “You like him, he likes you, so—”

“You didn’t see him after it. It’s like, I don’t know. I fucked up. Big time. And now I don’t have any way to contact him, and I sent him packing and I just … Why am I so _stupid_?”

Pidge grabs Lance by the scruff of his jacket, and twists him around to face them. They’re glowering. 

_CRASH!_

Lance is now on his ass, staring up at a very pissed off Pidge.

“The fuck was that for?” demands the Cuban, holding his stomach.

“What do you think it was for, dipshit?” Pidge rolls their eyes. “What happened? When you answered the door? You just came back, really shaken.”

Lance bites his lip. “I …” He shakes his head. “It was … it was Lotor. At the door. He … there was nothing I could do, he had this … this _thing_ , that I just—”

“Did he seduce you into driving Keith away?” Pidge demands. “Huh? Did he hold you at gunpoint? What could he have possibly done to stop Lance _reckless I-don’t-give-a-fuck_ McClain from getting himself a boyfriend?!”

Lance sighs, sinking into his spot on the floor. “He … it didn’t have a thing to do with me, it was … it was about Keith. And me, but mostly about Keith. I didn’t care, but Keith … Keith would care. And I couldn’t …” He shakes his head. “It’s not about what he did to me, it’s about what he would’ve done to Keith.”

“And you wouldn’t have helped him out of whatever hole he got himself into?” Pidge demands. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t throw your dumbass car into a trash compactor if that boy asked you to.”

Lance is getting tired of sighing. He forces himself onto his feet, sways a little, and shakes his head. “It’s none of your fucking business, okay? Leave me alone.”

He slams his bedroom door with a loud _BANG_.

* * *

It does not go away.

A week after Keith’s left, Lance is still a wreck. Hunk’s never seen his best friend like this before, and it scares him. Lance hasn’t gone to class, he’s just been holed up in his room, staring at the ceiling. His boss, Coran, is starting to call, asking if he’s tripped and fallen in a ditch somewhere. Occasionally, he’ll come out for meals, but even then he forgets sometimes. 

At the second week mark, Pidge is ready to break down Lance’s door. Hunk stops them.

“I think we should leave him alone.”

Pidge turns to Hunk sharply. “Oh yeah? Where does that ever get you?”

Hunk appreciates a lot of things about Pidge. Their intellect, their determination, their resolve. He admires their protective nature, though it’s a bit difficult to understand, and he knows that if he, or Lance were in danger, Pidge would go on a warpath to help them out. There’s a fire in their eyes that says they will not back down.

“Listen, I know you want to help him, I do too, but you can’t … we can’t just do it like this,” Hunk says. “Right now, Lance isn’t ready to talk. We can’t reach Keith either, to find out what’s happening—”

“So what do we do?”

An idea pops into his head.

“We’ll call Shiro.”

Something lights up in Pidge’s eyes. They punch him in the shoulder. “Genius!” They practically rip Hunk’s phone from his fingers and search through the call history, finding the unfamiliar number. Putting it on speaker, Pidge drags Hunk out into the hallway to make sure the Cuban won’t hear them.

“Keith?”

It’s weird to call a man they’ve barely spoken to, but they have to.

“Uh, no.”

“Who is this?”

“I’m Pidge, I’m using my friend Hunk’s phone. He’s here too,” they add. “We’re Lance’s friends.”

“Oh.” There’s something in Shiro’s tone, it’s turned from cautious to something resembling worry. “Do you know what happened between them?”

“No, we were hoping you might know something?”

“I don’t have the slightest clue,” Shiro says. “I mean, Keith’s been locked in his room like some kind of Rapunzel crap for the past while. Zarkon’s put him on house arrest. Lotor’s looking smug, I don’t …”

“We have to figure this out,” Hunk says. “I can’t, we can’t let Lance be like this. It’s bad for him, he gets inside his own head a lot and then he just … shuts down. It’s terrible.”

“You think I like how Keith is now? I’ve never seen my brother so … _numb_. It’s like, all the fight left him. He’s never been like that, ever. I can’t watch him like that. I really can’t. I’ll help you in any way I can, I just—”

“Shirogane?” The voice comes from somewhere else on the other line. 

“Gotta go, but I’ll keep in touch,” Shiro says.

The line goes dead.

When they enter the apartment again, Hunk goes to Lance’s door. He knocks his knuckles against the frame and waits for a response.

He hears some scrambling, some shuffling. There’s a sniffle, and Hunk just knows Lance is going to pretend he wasn’t crying. 

Hunk hates how he thinks he has to be strong all the time. He once told Hunk it’s because he’s a big brother, he has to be strong, and no one can see him cry because otherwise, how is his little sister going to trust him to fend off the monsters under the bed?

The door opens a crack. Lance’s eyes are red, his hair is a mess, and Hunk’s pretty sure the Cuban doesn’t even know he’s trembling.

“Hey,” says Hunk.

“Hey.”

It’s weak.

“Can I come in?”

Lance moves aside, making a grand sweeping gesture with much less energy than usual. 

The room is the usual mess. Hunk can ignore Lance’s terrible bedroom maintenance habits for now and takes a seat on the unmade bed.

“I—”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Hunk says. “Just breathe.”

Lance chuckles dryly. “Déjà vu …”

Hunk ignores the comment. “You know Pidge just cares, right? They’re not actually mad at you, they’re just frustrated.” 

“I know.” Lance sits himself down on his swirly chair, sitting on it backwards. His arms wrap around the backrest of the chair, hugging it. “I know you care too, bud.”

“Good.”

“I’m not sad.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not. I’m mad, there’s a one letter difference, but it means a lot.”

Hunk chuckles. “I know how English works.”

Lance looks down at the floor at the Lego bricks that Hunk really thinks he should clean up. “I’m sorry, you know. That we haven’t spent as much time together. I don’t want to be that shitty friend who forgets about you just cause I’ve met someone.”

Hunk shakes his head. “It’s no problem—”

“Cut the bullshit. I know I’ve been a shitty friend since Keith and all.”

“Shouldn’t you be saying this to Pidge too?”

Lance shakes his head. “Pidge is great and all, but you’re my bro. You’re my brother out here, without my family. And you’re just as good as my biological brothers. _Better_ , in some ways. I’ve known you longer than I’ve known Pidge. I owe you a bigger apology. I know I just kind of, shoved him into our game nights, and I never really checked with either of you if it was okay. You took it all in stride. Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem,” Hunk says. “Really, it’s not. I like Keith. I think he makes game nights more fun, and I’m glad you found someone like him. We _both_ like him, a lot. He balances you out nicely.”

“If he ever talks to me again …”

Hunk doesn’t know what to tell him, so he jumps to his feet. “Alright, enough of this miasma, we’re getting you out of bed, and we’re playing _Halo 3_ , right now, and I’m going to kick your ass.”

By the time they’re finished, Lance seems much better, though Hunk knows it isn’t over yet. After the game, Lance goes to shower for perhaps the first time in _days_ , and Hunk has convinced him to get his ass back to school before they renounce his scholarship, and he’s left with student debt and no education to show for it.

Pidge tries to get into contact with Shiro, but it seems like his phone has been turned off for his meeting.

This can’t go on this way, Hunk just knows it. Lance will keep beating himself up about things that he won’t talk about, and it’ll deteriorate his friend into nothingness. Hunk’s seen it before, on a smaller scale, whenever he feels he’s disappointed his siblings, whenever he feels he’s slipped past what he should be, what he could be, what his parents expect.

First thing’s first, they have to meet with Shiro.

* * *

Shiro is sitting in his office, writing up another proposal for the Garrison Aviation Initiative when his secretary calls him.

“Uh, Mr. Galra?”

“Takashi, please,” Shiro says through gritted teeth. “What is it?”

“There are … uh, there are two people here to see you?” She sounds hesitant. Shiro can hear from the other end remarks about how “we just need to talk to him for a second”, and “if Lance throws himself off a building, I’m blaming his ass!”. The secretary is telling them to be quiet.

“Let them up.”

“But sir—”

“Let them up.”

He hangs up, and reclines in his chair. Everything is getting out of hand. It’s been almost a month since Lotor’s been _smiling_ , and Zarkon is as cruel as always. Keith barely leaves his room to eat, Shiro’s pretty sure he’ll be slipping trays throw a doggy-door soon. He’s been in contact with Hunk and Pidge, before they decided it’s best if they actually met up, so he gave them the address, and now they need to work on a game plan.

A few minutes later, the door is opening and there’s a Samoan with a headband and a … person with large glasses standing in his doorway. He can vaguely recall their faces from the short time he spent in Lance’s apartment.

“Hunk, Pidge,” Shiro says, nodding to both of them. “Take a seat.”

Pidge looks around, adjusting their glasses. “Kinda … snobby in here, isn’t it?” they ask. They sit on a chair with their legs spread wide open, eyeing all the awards adorning the walls. “Seems boisterous, don’t you think?”

Shiro hates his office. It’s too extravagant. All the decorations are there to be extra, to be seen and stared and gawked at. There’s no point to it. “It’s nice to meet you, formally.”

“Figured it was about time,” Hunk says with a shrug. “So, Operation Get Lance and Keith Back Together is going to commence now? OGLKBT …. Sounds like some weird BLT or something.” 

Shiro shakes his head. “I don’t think it needs to be anything nearly as crazy as you’re probably thinking. If we can just get Keith _to_ Lance, I think we’ll be fine. Though, that won’t be easy …” He bites his lip thoughtfully. “Galra Tech specializes in weaponry and security.”

“Are you saying we’re going to be doing some 007 work from here on out?” asks Hunk, his eyes lighting up and sparkling.

“As if I couldn’t hack their systems!”

Shiro thinks he should be very scared of the little person with the short brown hair. “You can try, but even more so, we’d need Lotor out of the way.”

“Right, Loturd.”

“You mean Lot _or_.”

“You heard what I said.”

Shiro blinks.

Hunk blinks.

Pidge clears their throat. “Okay, so we’re busting Keith out? Cool. So what’s Loturd’s schedule look like? Is he always at the Galra house? When’s the best time to act?”

“Thing is, I’m the only one out of us three who knows how the security measures of the house work, but, when Lotor’s not in the house, neither am I. We’re going to have to communicate through the phone so I can walk you through it,” Shiro explains.

“Oh, do we get code names?”

“Dibs on Eagle!”

“No way! If Lance were here, he’d have called you Pidgeon, or Pidgey, or Pidgeotto,” Hunk says.

Shiro rubs his temples, trying to soothe his sudden headache. “No code names.”

“C’mon, that’s the best part!”

Shiro can’t help but find their antics amusing, a smile spreading across his lips without his consent. Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro spots Hunk reaching out—

“Wait, don’t—”

_CRASH!_

“Touch … that …”

Hunk chuckles. “Heh … I can pay for that.”

“No, you can’t.”

“You’re right, just figured I should say it anyway,” Hunk admits.

_It’s for Keith, it’s for Keith. Don’t strangle them._

* * *

“Alright, listen, you’re going to have to hack into the system’s mainframe and override the motherboard. In order to do that, you’re going to have to get through the firewalls. Those are heavily encrypted—”

“Got it.”

Shiro groans on the other end of the line while Pidge smirks. To be honest, it’s kind of weird, that they’re sitting in a black van with a laptop on their person, headphones plugged in, like they’re the tech guy from some sort of spy thriller. It is, for lack of a better word, thrilling.

“I’ll just reprogram it,” Pidge says. “How slow is your computer, Shiro? You need to clean out the viruses on this thing, and the keys are sticky as hell,” they reprimand the man. 

Hunk is breathing down Pidge’s neck, which makes it harder to work. They prefer to be left alone when working, without worrying about prying eyes. They have the right to their own secrets, the wonders of how they crack into systems, but apparently no one cares about that all that much. “Right, so what are you programming it to do?”

“It’s going to shut off for about thirty minutes, so you’ve got that much time to get in, and get out.”

“That’s not too bad—”

“Keith is stubborn,” says Shiro through Hunk’s earpiece. “ _Very_ stubborn. He might not want to go. He’s had time to sit and fester, has probably made some stupid assumptions and will have convinced himself that leaving his room will end the world or trigger the Antichrist.”

“Oh. That’s … swell.”

Pidge slaps him on the back. “Suck it up, buttercup. You got this.”

* * *

Hunk so does _not_ have this.

The Galra Mansion is _huge_. It’s like he’s suffocating on the air as he breathes in. It feels as though there’s a metaphorical timer that’s begun, so he starts his way up the stairs, skipping them two at a time. He can tell, from the way the boards feel, there were probably some motion sensors that Pidge has deactivated. 

“Keith?” he calls out. “Keeeith.” He knocks on each door in the long hallway, ignoring the obnoxious portraits that line the walls. He nearly trips over a bump in the rug, until he gets to the last door in the hall.

“Keith?”

The floorboards creak, something Hunk didn’t think a place this fancy could do.

“Hunk?”

“Yeah, it’s me. You wanna come out?”

“Is Lance with you?” Before Hunk can answer, Keith is talking again. “Stupid question, I’d be able to hear him.” 

The door opens, and Keith stands in the doorway. He’s wearing the most casual clothes Hunk has ever seen him in, a pair of pants and a dark grey t-shirt. Hunk is sure the pants still cost a lot though. His hair is a mess. It looks like he hasn’t slept in ages. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Hunk nods in greeting. He doesn’t really know how he’s supposed to interact with Keith. He likes him just fine, but without others to help move him along, Hunk feels awkward.

“What are you doing here?”

“Busting you out.”

“Busting me …? What are you talking about?” Keith leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “I’m not some damsel in distress.”

“Well, I know that, but—”

“Do you think they’d be able to keep me here if they wanted to?” Keith shakes his head. “I’m fine, Hunk. Really. Go home.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. “What? That’s not possible. You look like _hell_ , this can’t be okay with you!”

Keith shrugs. “I said I’m fine, there’s no problem with it.”

“You can’t be!” Hunk flounders. “Lance is … Lance is a total _wreck_ right now, he smells like his gym locker, and I _just_ got him to wash his hair again. He’s been acting like he’s walking to the edge of the world and he’s just staring into the abyss. You can’t be fine.”

Keith raises a challenging eyebrow. It’s almost convincing. “You’re telling me that just because Lance is feeling like shit right now, I have to be too?”

“No, that’s not even close! Have you looked in a mirror recently? It’s like you’ve aged fifty or so years, and you look like someone killed your grandmother. Your eyes are not always that mopey, and I can still smell Lance on you. You smell like burnt French fries and Cuba!”

“I can’t go back to Lance,” Keith says, a desperation creeping into his voice that Hunk’s never heard before, raw and open. “He doesn’t … why would he want me to come back?”

“Because he never wanted to send you away!”

“Then why did he?!”

Hunk takes a step back and holds up his hands.

“No, wait, I’m sorry,” Keith says quickly. “It’s just … I know when I’m not wanted.”

Hunk shakes his head. “No, you don’t. Lance wants you, a lot. And I can’t tell you why he told you to leave, I don’t even know why, but he regrets it. And I can prove it to you, if you’d just come with me.”

There’s a buzz in his ear.

“Hand me over to him.”

Hunk frowns. “Pidge—”

“Do it, now.”

Hunk takes out his earpiece, holding it out to Keith. “Pidge wants to talk to you.”

Keith takes it hesitantly, bringing it to his ear. He winces almost immediately, though Hunk can’t hear anything that Pidge is yelling at the half-Korean. After a few moments, he pulls it out and hands it back to Hunk. 

Something’s changed.

Keith stares at Hunk. The Samoan feels tense under the half-Korean’s strict gaze. He doesn’t know how Lance does it. He’s sizing him up, evaluating, assessing. The tension in Keith’s shoulders disappear when he’s finished.

“You know, Lance is a lot better at this kidnapping thing.” He pushes himself off the wall and sighs. “But, I’ll go with you. I guess.”

* * *

Lance is tired. 

He takes the long route home, tries to think his way through things. He’ll get dressed in something nice, something fancy, then he’ll make his way over to Keith’s, demand to see him, read the cue-cards he’s been working on for the past week, and then maybe, _maybe_ he can prove Loturd wrong.

Maybe it won’t matter that Lotor has— _don’t think about it._

_Does Keith even remember me?_

It doesn’t seem that far fetched that Keith would’ve forgotten him. Lance is a middle-class college student up to his eyes in debt, and while he likes to think they’re super close, he knows Keith probably knows tons of people and Lance is just another face in the crowd.

He kicks at the dirt in his way and listens to the pebbles crunch beneath his feet. His pace speeds up when he checks his watch. Not having a phone is going to bite him in the ass, Hunk is going to worry and—

“ _Oomph_!”

In the time it takes Lance to blink, there’s someone holding onto him tightly, their arms wrapped around him fiercely. He sputters, stops, and then gravity— the bitch it is— sends him falling backwards.

He coughs as the dust from the road gets near his mouth and by the time the cloud fades away, there’s a very familiar face in front of him, one with violet eyes and a messy mullet.

“Fucktard!”

Lance chuckles. “Hello to you too, bastnerd.”

“That just sounds like best nerd,” says Keith Kogane. Lance blinks numerous times, partially to get rid of the dust, partially to make sure he’s not dreaming. “So you suck at insults and I reign supreme.”

It’s so _easy_ this way, with Keith straddling him, and the breath knocked out of his lungs. It feels so _right_ , to be under Keith, but—

Lance flips the boy over, so that he’s on top, grinning. “Where’s that black belt, huh?”

Keith shrugs. “Maybe I like submitting to you.”

This is easy. This is the way it should have been after the kiss that feels so far away, so much like a dream. _This_ easiness, this no-thinking-involved way of being with Keith, is what Lance was expecting after that first kiss. This is infinitely better. There’s no stress right now, like this, on the side of the road, laughing and poking fun at each other.

Once the laughter has died down a little, Lance asks, “So, how’ve you been?”

_BAM!_

There’s the taste of blood in his mouth. He licks his lips and the metallic taste spreads. “You punched me,” he says, wiping at his now-bleeding lip. “The fuck was that for?”

“For kicking me out.”

“I didn’t kick you out.”

Keith raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, I kicked you out. But I didn’t want to!”

Keith sits up on his elbows, and it’s like his eyes can see into Lance’s soul. “So why _did_ you?”

“I …” Lotor flashes in Lance’s mind. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“I …” Lance licks his bleeding lip. “Can we not talk about this? How’d you even find me?”

“Hunk said you were probably taking the long-way home. Turns out you were.” Keith flips them over again, and Lance is absolutely sure that he’s getting his clothes way too dirty. “And now I’ve got you trapped.”

“Maybe I like being trapped.”

Keith laughs, and his head tosses back, and his hair curls around the nape of his neck. His neck looks like a white canvas, just waiting to be painted over. “Hmm?” he purrs, and Lance is going to lose it. He’s going to take that mouth and make it his and—

“Hey! Keith! So you found him!”

Lance looks over Keith’s shoulder to see Hunk and Pidge running up to meet them. Keith gets off of him (much to Lance’s displeasure), and helps him to his feet. 

“Right,” says Keith, brushing aside his hair. “Got him right where I want him.”

These past few weeks have been hell for Lance. Looking at Keith, it’s like the world has slotted into place and everything will be okay. 

Keith is the heir to the Galra Tech Empire, and has more money in his bank account than Lance can probably count up to. He has Armani suits and probably numerous walk-in closets, and his own personalized jumbotron. He probably has a pond of koi fish and knows how to speak fifteen languages meanwhile Lance sometimes blurs the line between the two that he does know.

Lance, in no way, is worthy of Keith Kogane.

But he’s gonna work to make sure he eventually is.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on my [Tumblr](https://setkia.tumblr.com/)!  
> Or e-mail me setkia.writer@gmail.com!  
> I love talking to readers, seriously! Aside from time differences causing a delay, I'll always reply!


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